


Finn's Playroom

by peppermintquartz, welcometothemeatshack



Series: Finn's Playroom [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anger, Angst, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, BDSM Scene, Bratty Subs, Bállins, Cock Cages, Come Sharing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, First Dates, Flirting, Foot Fetish, Glasses, Heavy Drinking, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inappropriate Use of Tie, It's a whole armada, Joestafa, Leather, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, More Ships to come, Murder, Muzzle Kink, Past Abuse, Rimming, Shooting, Slow Burn, Slurs, So much angst, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, Whipping, casually criminal, fighting and fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-09-28 17:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 149,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17187671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometothemeatshack/pseuds/welcometothemeatshack
Summary: There are two rules for the Playroom:1. Stop means Stop.2. Finn's word is law.When professional assassin Joe and professional dominant Finn stage a rescue for a mistreated young man, they did not plan for how much their lives will change because of Seth Rollins nor account for the effectiveness of Finn's curses.An AU exploring D/s dynamics.(Tags will be added as the story develops.)





	1. Chapter 1

Joe keeps glancing at Hunter’s submissive. Long, dark hair, pretty doe eyes, a soft mouth, and a long neck with a collar that is pinching his skin. It’s pink where the clasp is; Joe doesn’t like that.

Joe also doesn’t like that Hunter lets his cronies call the kid Hunter’s bitch, or that they feel him up without asking Hunter. The young man is trying not to squirm and avoid their touching. Joe holds his tongue. Perhaps that is their arrangement. Besides, he is here to discuss a job. Assassination is a tricky business, after all; you don’t want to kill the wrong guy. No one will pay you for killing a random bystander.

He may charge someone a dollar just to break Orton’s hands, though. The boy is clearly uncomfortable but Hunter doesn’t notice his sub’s increasing distress. Orton feels  _creepy_ , and Joe isn’t given to being creeped out.

It’s a tricky target Hunter wants Joe to eliminate. Joe is good at his job; no one expects big, fat men to move fast and viciously. Thinking over the logistics of the job makes him curious as to what Hunter is willing to pay.

“Give me one night with your boy,” he says, as a test.

Hunter doesn’t even hesitate. He doesn’t lay down rules, and he doesn’t reassure his sub. He doesn’t even give Joe his sub’s name. He just hands the leash over to Joe, and says that he’ll be back the next morning. Then Hunter and his group leave. 

The first thing Joe does once Hunter is gone is loosen the collar.

The second thing he does is to ask for a name.

The young man looks nervous before he answers, “Seth Rollins.”

Joe is not good at soothing frightened submissives. The third thing he does then is to make a phone call.

***

“Finn…” Tyler whines, snuggling closer to the man in the black Armani suit. “I want sushi.”

“Oh, you do?” Finn raises an eyebrow, amused. He likes Tyler, for all that he is a demanding brat who pouts when he can’t get his way. “You need to ask nicely, gorgeous.”

“Please?”

“Hmm. Not nicely enough.”

“Pretty please with a cherry and a blowjob?”

Finn grins. He holds out an arm, and the blond young man tucks a hand into Finn’s elbow, the two of them strolling to the waiting car. Finn likes the picture they make: him in his black-on-black-on-black suit, and Tyler in his fur-trimmed gold and white coat and tight white pants revealing far too much of what’s available.

It’s been a year since he closed down his dungeon in Tokyo and moved here to Los Angeles. A brand new environment, new opportunities, and he knows a few old friends in the area who are more than willing to help him set up shop. The  _Playroom_  opened last month, and he already has a steady clientele.

Karl is driving today, and Luke is busy texting his wife in the passenger seat. Sitting on the floor of the car, Tyler curls up close to Finn’s knees and plays with the zipper on his pants. Finn lets him, for a few minutes, and then stops him by gripping his wrist. 

“No need for a blowjob?” Tyler asks, smirking.

Finn tilts his head. “Later.”

“Hmm. I’d have had my sushi. I wouldn’t  _need_  to blow you then.”

“No,” says Finn evenly, catching and holding the pretty young man by his chin, “but you’d want to, wouldn’t you?”

Tyler bites his lower lip coquettishly. “Maybe.”

They know this game. Tyler is one of Finn’s regulars, and Finn knows exceedingly well how to drive him to begging. 

Luke clears his throat. “Finn, Joe’s calling on the private line.” 

“Joe? He never calls.” Finn takes the phone from Luke. “Joe, you got me.”

 _“I have a sub situation_ ,” Joe says gruffly. “ _Could use your soft touch._ ”

“Can they wait? I have Tyler with me.”

 _“He can’t,”_  says Joe quietly.  _“Finn, he’s Hunter’s boy. And he’s too scared to run.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future chapters will be longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Seth meets a lot of new people.  
> And Tyler is Tyler.

Tyler doesn’t know why Finn is going to Joe’s, but he adores Daddy Joe, so once they get their sushi to go, he’s more than happy to follow Finn.

Joe’s home is over his bar. He owns the building, in fact, all four floors of it, but Tyler has never gone up beyond the apartment over _Samoa Joe’s_. The burly man is not just a bar owner, but Tyler knows enough to not know too much.

Anderson goes into the building first, carrying the sushi in one plastic bag, and Gallows watches Finn’s back. Tyler’s known them to protect Finn ever since Tyler first dropped in at Finn’s dungeon in Tokyo. Bullet Club catered to the rich and powerful, and rich, powerful people have plenty of enemies. Now Finn sees a carefully vetted clientele at The Playroom and he works with only one partner, no longer the boss of a dungeon of experienced doms and subs.

Tyler is smugly aware that he’s probably the first to have passed the Irishman's test. Outside of being fabulously wealthy, Tyler is also the darling of the fashion world. Everything he puts on himself becomes a trend; everyone wants to be seen with him. It just makes sense for Finn to put him on his client list.

But it’s become _exhausting_ to be Tyler Breeze. Skinny little bitches who swarm him at fashion shows don’t see him, only Instagram likes and follows as well as their names on gossip sites. Media moguls invite him to premieres to feed him to the cameras but no one ever asks what he thinks of the movies. Vogue will put him on the cover but no one asks for anything beyond his interpretation of the latest runway trends or his current romance.

Finn and Joe ( _Daddy,_ he thinks, a little thrill dancing down his spine) see _him_. They’re the only ones who know how to strip away the polish, the packaging, the pretty airhead persona until they get to Tyler. They like him for him, not for fame or celebrity, and frankly, the annual membership fee for The Playroom barely registers as a blip in Tyler’s mind.

Joe opens the door on the second knock. He and Finn grasp hands before bumping their shoulders together, their other hands sweeping down the line of each other’s backs. Finn doesn’t do that with other people. “Come on in. Hey, Anderson, Gallows. Help yourself to my fridge.”

“Thanks, Joe,” Anderson says. “Finn, you need us with you?”

“Not right now.”

“Daddy!” Tyler squeals, now that the pleasantries are done with, and throws his arms around Joe’s thick neck while Finn’s bodyguards stroll towards the kitchen. He rubs his cheek all over the large man’s scruff. “I’ve missed you. Didja miss me?”

Joe grabs him by the back of his neck and tugs him away, shaking him slightly. “Pretty boy, not now. Finn, come on. He’s in there.”

“Who’s in there?” Tyler asks. He takes the sushi from the counter and follows after them.

***

Seth doesn’t know what to expect. He accompanied Master because he goes where Master goes, always, but this Joe guy wants to keep Seth for the night, and Master has just handed the leash over without thought.

Seth doesn’t want to stay with Joe for the night.

His collar is looser than before, so he can breathe properly, and Joe hasn’t tied him to a post or bound him to anything. Joe hasn’t even given him an order, just a pitcher of water and a glass. He’s not touched Seth, other than to ease the tension of his collar, and Seth doesn’t know what Joe wants from him.

He feels lost.

He should be able to run away from here, he thinks. He can run from Joe and run all the way home, in that little one-bedroom where Master keeps him.

But if he runs, and Joe calls Master, then Master will be angry with him. Seth still remembers his punishment the last time he disobeyed Master. He remembers the blindfold, and the mocking laughter, and the biting cold.

Seth doesn’t know what to do, so he stays where he's been put earlier, fretting. Master didn’t say anything to him before he left, so obviously Seth’s supposed to know what action to take, but he doesn’t _know_ and he wants to ask, but there is no one to ask-

Someone raps on the door, interrupting his thoughts.

“We’re coming in.” It’s Joe.

He comes into the room with a man dressed like a knife sheathed in black. He’s more slender than Joe, though the all-black suit hides his exact build, and he has strikingly blue eyes under hooded lids.

Behind him is a pretty blond who looks familiar to Seth, though he can’t place where he’s seen him before.

“Meet Seth Rollins,” Joe tells the new additions. “He’s Hunter’s boy.” The way he says it doesn’t sound like he believes it is a good thing.

The blond’s eyes go a little wide, but he says nothing as the man in black steps forward slowly, as if he doesn’t want to spook Seth, but Seth’s heart speeds up anyway and he works hard to control the slight flinch as the other man reaches out; he must not do very well, though, because blue eyes narrow, but instead of touching Seth, the hand falls to a black-clad knee.

“Hello, Seth,” the man in front of him says, a soothing accent drifting into Seth’s ears. “My name is Finn.”

***

Finn sees what Joe sees. Fear and defiance are wound through Seth Rollins, and he is as tense as a bowstring. There are things Finn wants to know, but he’s not sure if he can pry them out of someone as defensive as Seth seems to be.

“Hi!” Tyler chirps from behind Finn. Without waiting for invitation, the blond plops himself next to Seth and takes his hand, clasping it between his own. “I’m Tyler. Tyler Breeze.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Seth says, and looks surprised at his own admission. He glances at the hand being held captive, but doesn’t pull away.

 _Look at that blush,_ Finn thinks.

“Of course you’ve heard of me!” Tyler laughs, almost dismissive if not for the charming way he leans against Seth. The latter seems quite taken aback by Tyler’s forthright snuggling, but doesn’t move, which Finn takes note of and a glance at Joe shows him that the older man also notices. Tyler snags the bag of sushi he’d set down on the coffee table beside Finn and drags it over toward them, asking brightly, “You hungry, Seth?”

“I’m okay-” Seth says, but his stomach growls.

Tyler glances at Joe and raises an eyebrow. “Really, Daddy? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Finn sees Seth shoot a frightened look at the blond, who ignores him. Joe just lifts his own eyebrow at Tyler, drawling, “Say that again and you’re getting a spanking, princess.”

“Like that’s a threat,” Tyler murmurs to Seth, winking at him.

Finn rises to his feet and walks back to the door. “Joe, your office?”

Joe nods. They shut the door, trusting that Tyler can handle the situation. Joe’s office is a utilitarian space, and a collection of red feathers in a shadow box on the wall is the sole burst of personality in the room. They sit down on opposite sides of the desk, and Finn drums his fingers on the surface.

“He won’t run,” says Finn.

“No, he won’t.”

“You can’t keep him either, Joe. That’d be as bad as Hunter. Worse. It’d be abduction and the boy will hate you.”

Joe scoffs. “I’m not gonna keep him. Why you think I got you here for?”

“The fuck? Joe, you know I don’t personally keep a sub.”

The big man folds his arms. “I am not matchmaking, you idiot. I’m taking the job from Hunter. That’ll take me out of the country for four, maybe six weeks. I can’t take this kid with me.”

Finn exhales and scrubs the back of his neck. Thing is, he owes Joe. And this is Joe calling in the favor. “I don’t know, man. Poaching someone else’s sub is not professional.”

“Rescuing one who is abused is.”

“We don’t _know_ he’s abused.” Finn has no doubt, but he has to say it.

Joe holds out his palm and tilts it side to side. “Neglect, abuse, whatever you want to call it. You know the boy needs help. No one deserves to be treated like they don’t matter.”

That is the heart of the matter, isn’t it? It is the principle Joe lives by, and the same principle Finn adheres to. People matter, and they should be treated like they matter. It’s a strange thing for an assassin like Joe to believe in, but Joe’s targets often are cruel or corrupt people in power; removing them is akin to, in Joe’s own words, ‘excising a tumor’.

The way Seth flinched earlier, the tension that didn’t let up until Tyler got close to him, the fear he showed when Tyler chided Joe... An ugly picture forms in Finn’s mind. Even when Finn was at his worst in Tokyo, his subs weren’t _afraid_ of him like this. He needs details, however.

“I’m not too familiar with the McMahon-Helmsley organization,” Finn says. Triumph gleams in Joe’s eyes; he knows Finn has decided to help. The Irishman leans back in his chair, all business now. “Who are the ones in charge?”

The Samoan turns on his laptop. “I’ll send you my files on them. Password will be the day I talked you into leaving Tokyo. There’s old man Vince, but he’s semi-retired. Still CEO. Shane’s the decent one, but he’s started his own company away in France. Stephanie, who is currently COO. And CFO is Hunter, who is poised to take over within the next three to six months.”

Finn snorts. “You’re taking out his competition?”

“No comment.” Joe clicks and types a few words. “As far as I know, Hunter’s been discreet about his boys, but those of us who know, _know_. He’s got a few of his former subs embedded into the company too.”

“How many does he have right now?”

“Just Seth.” Joe smirks when Finn makes a disbelieving expression. “He’s got a wife and three daughters, man. Not easy to have more than one.”

“I’m not certain I can get Seth away from him in this case,” Finn admits. “He’s gonna have to want to leave Hunter, and we both know how subs can be when they’re used to a dom.”

That is why neither of them have personal subs. Finn has his clients, and if those clients want a firmer hand than Finn wants to give, or for something more dangerous, he recommends them to others that he trusts, such as Joe. Joe doesn’t see Finn's clients these days, because he's bored with most of these thrillseekers; Tyler’s a rare exception, but Tyler has a habit of making himself an exception to many things. Some become _too_ attached outside of the sessions, however. Sending them a bill for services rendered usually cools them right off. The thought of having a personal submissive, someone to return home to... Finn chews on the knuckle of his thumb. He doesn’t _hate_ the idea, but he doesn’t crave it like some other people he knows (namely Kevin Owens, that smug bastard).

 _What am I saying? Seth probably won’t want to be my sub anyway._ Finn smiles at his own presumption. No, this is an intervention for Seth’s own good, that is all. “What does Hunter like? Besides, you know, fucking over young men until they’re too frightened to tell you they’re hungry?”

“You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“What do rich men with money and power like?” Joe asks.

Finn rolls his eyes. Of course. “More money and power.”

***

Tyler notices the boy, this Seth, relax minutely as soon as the door closes and purses his lips. He rarely ever is subtle, but he chooses not to comment (for now), sliding his hand into the plastic bag and taking out the sushi he’d ‘begged’ for. “Cali roll?” he asks, offering the container to the dark-haired man. Brown eyes flash toward the closed door, swift and still slightly nervous, before he nods timidly and reaches for the chopsticks Tyler hands him.

Tyler makes it about thirty seconds before, “So you’re Hunter’s sub?”

Seth’s fingers tighten compulsively on the chopsticks, skin whitening for a brief moment before he answers, voice a little tight, “Yes.”

 _Ah, well, perhaps not the best subject to start with_ , Tyler thinks to himself, but continues nevertheless. He pops a square of norimaki in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he speaks again. “I’ve heard things about him.” Not many - if any - of them good. “You looked pretty scared earlier,” Tyler comments offhand and the other sub looks at him, directly this time, and his eyes (beautiful eyes, Tyler notices, almost like a doe, sort of innocent and sweet) are wide with fear, horrified.

“I’m not!” The words are panicked, his breathing a little wild, and the sushi is forgotten in Seth’s lap, one half-eaten California roll dropping to the area rug (a tragedy, honestly - the loss of the sushi _and_ the rug; Joe really should consider letting Tyler get a decorator for him). “I’m- I’m fine.”

Tyler’s eyebrow rises again and he leans back against Seth, noting the way the other immediately plasters to him in return, even in his obvious distress, apparently starved for touch - or rather, for _good_ touch. “Okay,” he says slowly, placing his food and chopsticks down, comfortably taking Seth’s hand once more, lacing their fingers together.

It takes a few minutes, but the quick, harsh breaths slow down, Seth shifting further into Tyler’s space, his head leaning against Tyler’s shoulder; it’s sweet and Tyler is-

He isn’t used to taking this sort of role, comforting someone else, but he sits with the frightened sub the entire time, eventually resting his own head on top of Seth’s. When he finally calms completely, Tyler sits upright and informs him, “I’ll go get something to clean this up,” gesturing to the food on the rug at Seth’s knees; cleaning is another thing he doesn’t normally do, but tonight seems a night of rare occurrences. “Wait here.”

Tyler doubts the other man is willing to move at all, too frightened of any possible consequences (and doesn’t that just put a heavy rock of unease in Tyler’s belly; he’s used to punishments, _loves_ them, even finds ways to instigate them, but to be so terrified to not even move is a telling thing for a sub, for _anyone_ ), so he flits to the door, tossing a flirtatious look at Luke and Karl, who must have moved to the end of the hall when Finn had gone into the office with Daddy Joe. They simply shake their respective heads as he bounces away.

***

Seth remains in place, eyes unfocused as he stares down at the ruined sushi roll, avocado and mayo smeared on the soft carpet. Master, Seth thinks, would make him lick it up, would force him to eat every bit of it and apologize for dirtying his possessions. 

_You must show me that you deserve my affection, champ. Learn to behave properly. You're no better than an untrained dog if you can't do something as simple as this._

A soft sound from the doorway catches his attention and he tenses when a new man, bald and sort of short with an impressive beard, steps into the room, white teeth bared in a friendly smile. “Everyone leave you?” It’s- Seth can’t decide if it’s supposed to be teasing or a trap; the smile says _teasing_ , but… _Master smiles a lot, too_ , Seth’s mind pipes up.

Seth only nods, fearful of seeming disrespectful to this man, an apparent friend of the man Master gave him away to for the night. The bald man laughs (it’s a pleasant laugh, bright and loud and genuine; Seth can’t remember the last time _he_ laughed that way) and says, “Well, I’m Karl. Luke and I’ll keep you company, then. That alright?” As if Seth will say _no_ \- as if he _can_ say it - he remains at the doorway until Seth offers a shaky nod in response, breath picking up again as these new strangers step inside and-

Seth almost _marvels_ at the height of the second man, also bald and bearded, behind Karl; he has to _duck_ to step into the room. The only person Seth has seen as tall, perhaps taller, is Kane, one of Master’s former “business associates”; he’s never had much interaction with the man, thankfully, but Seth has always been frightened of him. This man, _Luke_ , is grinning, something Seth had only ever seen on Kane if it meant something terrible for someone else. (Will Joe make Seth serve Karl and Luke too? And Finn and Tyler? Master has thrown such parties before but he usually tells Seth to prepare himself beforehand. His heart is racing as he braces for either of these two big men to grab him to play-)

“So,” the shorter man grins. “Like I said: I’m Karl; this is Luke.” The big man waves, rolling his eyes at his companion. “You got a name?”

There’s that tone again, gentle and teasing. “S-Seth,” he stutters softly, berating himself almost immediately afterward; Master _detests_ stuttering. These men don’t seem to register it, though, moving to sit on the sofa, a few feet away from Seth, on the other side of the area rug where he’s kneeling. Seth has to fight the slight burst of relief that they aren't going to play with him right now. Maybe they're waiting for Joe.

“You mind?” One big hand gestures at the sushi, half of it still bagged, next to Seth, who only swallows and looks away, fingers tapping anxiously on his thighs.

“Dude, you just _demolished_ Joe’s refrigerator. _How_ can you still be hungry?”

“Hey, asshole, I’m a growin’ boy!”

Luke barely has to stretch to grab the forgotten bag from the floor, searching through until he locates the shrimp tempura container, popping pieces into his mouth like candy, while Karl calls him _a bottomless pit_ . Their banter is playful, full of good-natured ribbing and responding laughter, nothing at all like Master and his acquaintances, all of _their_ words hiding thinly-veiled threats or outright vitriol. It’s-

Seth can only listen, careful not to stare, fingers still _tap-tap-tapping_ against his thighs, eyes returning to the sushi on the floor.

***

Though he will never admit it aloud, Joe enjoys Finn’s company. He infers fast, and doesn’t need Joe to state the obvious. They understand each other remarkably well, too, and Finn has very little ego to get in the way of them conducting business as well as pleasure.

Asking for Finn’s help was a calculated move. Everything Joe does is thought through. It’s in his nature. Seeing the way Finn looked at Seth confirms that Joe did the right thing. Finn is soft-hearted, particularly for pretty boys. Joe’s glad that he doesn’t have that particular weakness.

Someone knocks on the door flirtatiously, meaning it has to be Tyler outside. How in all hell does anyone knock flirtatiously? It boggles the mind. “Come in,” Joe calls out.

“Hey, Daddy.” Tyler enters and comes round the desk, pouting prettily until Joe sighs and pushes his chair back until the blond can perch in his lap, an arm curled around his shoulders. Finn only looks amused, the bastard. “I can’t find your cleaning stuff. Like, cloths or mops or whatever people use to clean carpets with.”

“And why would you need cleaning supplies, gorgeous?” Finn asks. He’s definitely laughing inside.

“Because Seth spilled some avocado and mayo.” Tyler’s face falls and he curls closer into Joe. “Daddy, he’s so scared. Isn’t there something we can do?”

Joe pets Tyler’s thigh. How tight are these pants anyway? They’re scandalously thin, too. “We were just discussing that.”

“Hunter won’t be willing to let him go,” Finn says.

Tyler pouts some more. “Then pay him off. A million dollars, two million, whatever. I have the money.”

“He’s not a toy, you brat.” Joe smacks him on the thigh. “He’s not like Prince Pretty. You can’t just buy him from a kennel because you feel sorry for him.”

“I didn’t buy Prince Pretty from a kennel,” Tyler informs Joe primly. “I adopted my baby, plus I sponsor the chihuahua shelter now.” He kisses Joe on the forehead. “Of course, my Daddy Joe has too many things on his mind to remember.”

Finn is chuckling openly. He always finds Tyler’s interactions with Joe amusing, for some reason. “The cleaning supplies are in the kitchen, pet. Do you even know how to use them?”

“Ha ha, very funny. I’ll have you know, I once washed my own mug,” Tyler says, rolling his pretty blue eyes.

“Brat.” Finn shakes his head and stands. “Come on, gorgeous. We’ll get the supplies and you can show me how well you play maid.”

“Ooh, I can get new outfits!” Tyler gets off Joe’s lap and follows Finn. The blond’s pants are so tight that Joe can tell that he’s wearing a thong under them. “French maid? _Pardon, m’sieur, j'ai été très méchant._ ”

Thankfully Joe misses the rest of that conversation. He books his flight to Heathrow, and seeks out a connecting flight to Dubai, then Shanghai. That’s not his destination, of course, but Joe’s always been careful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where everyone takes care of Seth, and Seth doesn't know how to be taken care of.

When the door opens again, Seth instantly is on high alert. It’s Tyler with Finn. The blond gapes at Luke in dismay when he sees that most of the sushi is gone. “I’ve hardly had any! Gallows, you meanie, you are buying me one more set.”

Seth flinches. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, “I-I should’ve said, I didn’t know-”

“Seth, it’s not _your_ fault,” says Tyler, jogging over to hug Seth’s arm. He narrows his eyes at Luke and adds, “It’s that giant over there who has a black hole for a stomach and no manners.”

“Sorry, Tyler,” says Luke, though his gaze is on Seth. It’s apologetic, but what has he to be sorry for? Seth is the one who didn’t say the rest of the sushi is Tyler’s.

Finn steps forward and hands a roll of paper towels at Tyler. “Come on, gorgeous, get to it.”

“Gallows ate my sushi, he should do it instead.”

“Tyler.” It is Finn’s tone of authority that gets Seth to look at him directly. Finn flashes a brief half-smile at Seth, but his face is stern when he turns to Tyler. “You said you’d clean the rug. Do it.”

Seth shifts forward half an inch. “I spilled it, let me clean it.”

“You’re a guest,” says Finn. “And Tyler promised.”

The blond huffs and takes the paper towels to pick up the spilled food, swiping half-heartedly at the smears of avocado and mayonnaise. Karl helpfully holds out a plastic bag where the chopsticks and sauce packs have been discarded and Tyler dumps the used towels in it. Then he gets back next to Seth and curls against him, his warm body encouraging Seth to snuggle back.

Finn has stood there, watching Tyler the entire time, his stance relaxed and easy. Seth wants to look at him but feels shy about doing it too obviously. Finn then tells Luke to get more sushi for Tyler, orders Karl to cancel tomorrow’s appointments. The two leave, Karl waving goodbye to Seth.

Finn then takes a seat, diagonally facing Seth. Not as confrontational, and with Tyler between them, Seth doesn’t feel as nervous as when Finn first came in. He keeps his eyes on the Irishman’s mouth though. He doesn’t want to be scolded for staring.

“So you’re here in Joe’s safekeeping for tonight,” says Finn. “I suppose that means you have to obey the rules of his house.”

Seth fidgets. He doesn’t know the rules of the house. “What are the rules, please?”

“Alright, gorgeous, tell Seth what they are.”

Tyler props his chin on Seth’s shoulder. “Number one, no means no. Number two, be honest. Number three, do not go to the top floor.”

Finn smiles at them both. “Got it, Seth?”

“Yes, please.”

“How old are you, Seth?”

“I’m twenty-five.” Seth licks his lips, and adds tentatively, “Sir?”

Finn smiles and shakes his head. “No, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’. Just Finn will do.”

Tyler huffs. “That’s not what you said when-”

“Pet, not now.”

“But, Finn-”

“On your knees, Tyler.” It’s that no-nonsense tone again, and this time he sounds much more severe. “Right here, between me and Seth, facing me.”

Chastened, the blond bites his lower lip and obeys. Seth squeezes his hands together, his knuckles white. He doesn’t want to see Tyler beaten.

Finn cups Tyler’s chin and says, “We’ve talked about this, pet. You do not interrupt when other people are talking.”

Tyler’s voice is very small. “I’m sorry.”

Finn sits back in his chair and tugs off his tie in one smooth pull. “You know the drill. How many times?” He folds his tie, doubling it over once, then waits for the blond to respond.

Reaching behind him, Tyler clasps his hands together, and then gazes up at Finn. “Four times.”

“Okay.” Finn doubles the tie over three more times. Tyler has to open his mouth wide for Finn to set the folded tie between his teeth. “Bite. You can remove it when Seth and I are done talking. Nod if you understand.”

Tyler nods, then shuffles closer on his knees to rest his cheek on Finn’s knee, facing Seth but not meeting his eyes. Finn allows it, petting Tyler’s silky blond hair a few times, and then smiles at Seth. “Twenty-five? You’re quite young. How old were you when you first subbed?”

Seth is still trying to wrap his head around how mild the disciplining is. If he’d cut in while Master was talking, he’d be whipped afterwards. Master said it was disrespectful for a sub to talk without being ordered to do so. Clearly, Finn doesn’t know how to treat a sub properly.

“Seth, how old were you when you first had a dom?” Finn repeats.

“Uh, nineteen? My college roommate was into the scene a-and, um, took me to a club.” Seth’s cheeks grow warm as he recalls the first time he was put in a collar and made to please someone else.

“And how many doms did you have before Hunter?”

Seth shakes his head. “Master is my first. Only. He was there at the club with his friends.”

“How old were you when Hunter and you began your arrangement?”

“I was twenty when Master chose me. He said I should be given special treatment.”

Finn frowns; has Seth said something wrong? The older man blinks and smiles again. “He chose you from what, a group?”

“There was a fitness tournament partly sponsored by the company.” Seth glances at Tyler, whose breathing is slow and even, his eyes half-closed. He’s still biting the tie firmly, like there’s nothing better than this. “I won, then he approached me and, um. We had a very good time, and we kept in touch and, after a month or so, he told me to move in.” Seth knows he’s blushing.

“You moved in with him and Stephanie?”

“No, no, Stephanie doesn’t want me in the house. I have a cabin on the property, and Master comes to see me every day. Unless he’s busy.” Perhaps he’s painting a bad picture of things; Finn doesn’t look too impressed. “It’s a nice cabin. I have a big kitchen, and Master has groceries delivered every week, and there’s a small patch out back where I can grow herbs and tomatoes.”

“That sounds pleasant.” Finn combs through Tyler’s hair. “I bet this naughty brat will want to visit.”

Tyler opens his eyes and looks up at Finn, before nodding at Seth. He’s smiling, too, although he is still biting on the folded tie and keeping his hands behind his back.

Seth shakes his head. “Master doesn’t want other people at the cabin. He says it’s his and mine alone.”

Finn strokes Tyler’s head and the back of his neck. Tyler doesn’t move at all. “Did you go to university?”

“Of course I did,” Seth says, indignant; he’s not an uneducated rube. “Master paid for it.”

“What did you study?”

“Architecture.” Seth looks at his hands. “I’ve never worked, though. I’ve forgotten most of what I learned.”

Finn hums. “Why don’t you work?”

“Because Master says he’ll pay for everything I need - and he does,” Seth adds.

“Do you have access to the internet? Or a phone?” Finn asks. There is a faint frown line between his brows.

Nodding, Seth says, “Once or twice a week, I get to use the computer in Master’s study, and I have a phone. There’s no internet on it but I don’t need that anyway.”

“Then what’s your phone for?”

“I call and text people. Well, mainly Dean and Roman - they’re my best friends. They’re busy a lot, though, so they don’t always have time for me.”

“I see. Give us a moment,” Finn tells Seth and pets Tyler on his shoulder. “Look up, gorgeous.” Once the blond is looking at him, Finn removes the tie and sets it on the arm of the chair, before rubbing the hinges of Tyler’s jaw with his thumbs. “You okay?”

Releasing the grip on his wrists, Tyler nods. There’s a soft flush over his cheeks and a happy glimmer in his eyes. Finn kisses his forehead and murmurs something too low for Seth to catch, and then Tyler leaves the room.

Without Tyler as a buffer, Seth feels exposed. Finn takes something from his suit jacket and hands it to Seth. It’s a name card, glossy black text on a matte black background. On one side is a phone number; on the reverse is a logo: the letter P, with an intricate vine pattern decorating it. There is no name on it; the entire thing looks like an illicit secret.

“You have been honest with me, Seth, thank you,” Finn says. “I’m going to be honest with you, too.”

That sounds ominous.

“I think you should consider leaving Hunter.”

Seth is indignant and scared. What is Finn saying? Seth can’t be _disloyal_ ; Master hates disloyalty. He’s always said loyalty is the most important thing in a relationship. People stick by someone through everything that life throws at them, because they love them. His uncertainty must show in his face because Finn’s expression turns severe.

“Hunter left you here with a man you know is an assassin. He didn’t tell you anything before passing your leash over to Joe, who could’ve been a very bad man and hurt you instead of calling me or trying to help you.” Finn counts off a finger with every sentence. “He isolates you from the rest of the world. He’s not allowing you to work, so you have no financial independence, which forces you to depend on him for everything you need or want; and, though you’ve not said it, you’re frightened every time you think you’ve made a mistake, something which I believe is reflective of Hunter’s treatment of you.”

“No, I’m not,” Seth argues. Finn is _wrong_ . “Just because _you’re_ soft on your sub-” He catches himself and is horrified by his impertinence. He immediately cowers, curling up his knees and trying to burrow away from Finn. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude-”

“Don’t be sorry for that,” says Finn, in the gentlest tone Seth has heard in a very long time. “Seth, sweetheart, if anything, I’m glad you still have a bit of fight.” He sighs. “Listen: Keep the card, or memorize the phone number, whichever won’t get you into trouble. I can send it to your friends even, have them call me in your stead.”

“Why would you even _care_ to help?” Seth asks. _Sweetheart. He calls me sweetheart without even thinking. I don't know if Master will ever call me that._ “I’m no one to you.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t offer help when I see that you may need it.” Finn sighs again. “If I thought it would help, I’d drive down right now and pay Hunter as much as he wants for you to be free of him.”

“Why? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be safe and happy,” says Finn. He pats Seth’s hand - the first time he’s ever touched Seth - and smiles.

***

That night, Joe leads Seth to a bedroom. Seth tenses, and then tries to blank out his reactions. It’ll be easier to just think of something else while Joe does whatever he wants to Seth. Maybe think about what else to plant in his little garden, or think about the composting. It'll work as long as he's not blindfolded.

“I have a change of clothes here if you prefer to sleep in something comfortable,” Joe tells him gruffly. “Bathroom’s down the hall on the right, you can’t miss it, and my room’s on the other side. If you need anything, knock first; I don’t like being startled awake.”

“You’re not...” Seth trails off, unsure of what he’s supposed to do. “I- You asked Master to leave me with you for a night. He’s gonna ask, and he’ll think I displeased you-”

Joe scowls. “Fine. Go brush your teeth, take a shower, change into those clothes, and then get back here. Fifteen minutes.”

Seth scurries to do as Joe says. It’s always weird, taking a shower in someone else’s home, though he’d done it plenty of times before Master gave him the cabin, and he still does it if Master's friends are the nicer ones. There are extra towels stacked like logs on the shelves, so Seth takes one and dries his hair as best as he can and another to dry the rest of him. He folds the towels and puts them into the laundry hamper. His own clothes he sets aside. He will have to wear them tomorrow.

***

Joe rubs his temples in annoyance. Why the hell did he intervene? This is getting to be too troublesome. Thank fuck Finn is taking over. Joe has better things to worry about.

Seth Rollins comes back dressed in the board shorts and tee shirt Finn left behind for the nights he slept over. Joe tells Seth to stand at the door and takes a photo, sending it to Finn, because it will probably make that Irish bastard feel more responsible for Seth.

 _‘u r a right fucking arsehole,’_ Finn texts back almost immediately, which only proves that Joe was right to involve him. ‘ _Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú.’_

Joe snorts. He knows that one, and replies, ‘ _Bet I know more chokeholds than the Devil, esp the ones that make you beg to come.’_

_‘Fuck off.’_

Seth is still standing at the door, his own clothes bundled under his left arm. “Um. What should I do now?” He shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Put the clothes down there. Get under the covers,” Joe orders. “Lie down.”

Though he looks perplexed, Seth obeys. His long hair is slightly damp; he will wake up with terrible bedhead. It’ll be a good lesson, Joe thinks, on blow-drying hair after a shower. He says nothing about it, only covers Seth with the blanket and tucks him in, before he turns out the light and heads to the door.

“Um, I don’t know what- Aren’t you going to fuck me?” Seth asks from the bed.

Joe half-turns in the doorway. “When did I ever indicate I wanted to fuck you?”

Seth blinks at him, as if he hasn’t realized.

“Anyway, tomorrow when Hunter asks, tell him I showed you to a friend of mine, then ordered you to get cleaned up and then I made you sleep.” Joe shuts the door behind him and picks up the clothes to toss into the machine.

He also has to make a list of things to take along for his job. Goddammit. Last year he staged an intervention to keep Finn from losing himself, and now he has this Seth kid. He’s really getting soft, and he’s not even forty yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú - May the Devil choke you


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Hunter is (even more of) a dick, and Seth panics.

Seth has the swiftest thought, just a quick concern, that everything is some sort of trick, a trap, that perhaps Master has set up as a test - to what end? Seth isn’t sure, but Joe doesn’t come into the room he’s allowed Seth to use for the night, not once, after he closes the door; Seth lies awake for a long time, listening for footsteps, wondering when they will come, worrying what will happen when they do, preparing himself for the worst, but-

Nothing happens, not once, and Seth wakes to everything exactly as it was when he fell asleep, the door still shut (which is, in itself, a strange sight; he isn’t permitted to shut his bedroom door at home, whether Master is planning to visit or not), the sheets still mostly tucked around him. His hair is still slightly damp on the side he’d curled to sleep and, just by reaching up and trying to comb through the mass of fluff, he knows it will be hell to run a brush through it. (Master likes it down, likes to be able to either direct Seth where he wants him with a handful of hair or, if Seth has been _really_ good, done everything right and not made even _one_ wrong comment or accidentally questioned him, Master sometimes will reward him with a few head pets, his entire palm running slowly over Seth’s curls, and Seth can close his eyes and allow himself to enjoy the touch, let his cheek rest against Master’s thigh and shudder at the momentary gentleness.)

He’s startled by a firm knock on the door, a deep _I’m coming in_ sounding from the other side only a beat before it opens, Joe’s broad build filling the doorway.

“Alright, kid,” Joe says, and Seth frowns a little; he isn’t a _child_. “Here.” He tosses clothes - Seth’s clothes, seemingly clean - at the foot of the bed, saying, “Get up and get dressed, freshen up in the bathroom if you’ve got to - there’s a couple of unused toothbrushes and all in there, probably a hairbrush, too - then come into the kitchen and eat; Hunter will be here in an hour.” His voice is firm and offers no room for refusal before he steps back out of the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving Seth to follow his orders.

He makes the bed and folds the borrowed clothes neatly after he dresses, holding them at his side as he exits the bedroom, scents of eggs and sausage and baked breakfast biscuits hitting him before he shuts himself in the bathroom, placing the clothes on top of his towels from the night before. He relieves his bladder and washes his hands, looking at his unruly hair in the mirror, debating whether he wants to attempt to tame it or-

A flash of Master’s annoyed expression through his head makes him search through the drawers for the hairbrush Joe had mentioned, finding it under the sink instead, looking brand-new. It takes an absurdly long time to get most of the snarls untangled, his curls fluffing, but Seth finally is able to run the brush through without taking entire bits of hair with each pass, so he calls it a win.

“Hey, kid.” There’s a knock. “You alive in there?”

Seth swallows and quickly seeks out a packaged toothbrush, opening it and snagging one of the travel-sized toothpaste tubes. “I’m- Yes, sir, sorry.”

The other man sounds like he’s scowling when he answers, “Don’t call me ‘sir’. Food is ready; hurry up or Hunter will be here before you even get out.”

“Yes, s- Yes, Mr. Joe.”

***

Breakfast is simple, but delicious; Seth honestly can’t remember the last time anyone made food for him, instead of the other way around. Joe doesn’t appear to want anything in return, either, merely grunting in acknowledgement when Seth thanks him, gesturing for him to eat, telling him to get as much as he likes.

He thinks of the other man, Mr. Finn’s - and Seth is a little distressed that these men tell him to call them by their names; Master says titles are a sign of _respect_ and, if Seth is calling them by their names, does that mean he’s being disrespectful, despite their insistence? - card, ripped into little pieces, in the bottom of the trash bin in the bathroom, a reminder of this stranger’s insistence that Seth leave Master, that he be _disloyal_ to the man who has given him so much. Seth doesn’t know if he threw it away in an effort to forget it or not, but the numbers blaze brightly still in his mind, front and center.

Seth jumps at the brisk knock on the door when it comes, and the man across from him gives him a short glance, but strides to the door. Seth stands quickly and brushes down his clothes, moving one hand subconsciously to his collar, checking that it’s still there, despite him know he had put it back on immediately after his shower the night before, the leather tight around his throat, the way Master likes it. He picks up the leash Joe had removed once they’d entered the apartment, folding it, kneeling at the sofa and putting his hands atop his thighs, holding the leather.

The larger man watches all of this, watches _Seth_ , that same look on his face ( _he looks angry_ , Seth thinks, but he can’t place what he may have done to make the man upset) before he turns and opens the door, Master standing on the other side, his familiar shadow, Corbin, just behind him; Seth feels a shiver down his spine at the look the second man gives him when he sees Seth on his knees.

“Did he behave?” Master’s voice is brisk, his steps sure as he moves into the apartment, Corbin following close behind; Mr. Joe’s fingers twitch before he closes the door.

“He’s very well-behaved,” Joe replies, adding, “You’ve trained him well.” His tone doesn’t sound complimentary at all, not to Seth, but Master either chooses to simply ignore it or he doesn’t hear the same undertone of _distaste_ that Seth does. He stops when he’s standing directly in front of Seth, a hand held out expectantly; Seth instantly offers up the leash, Master’s other hand forcing his head back so he can clip it to the small ring at the front of Seth’s throat.

Master turns and tugs roughly on the lead, forcing Seth to his feet, then moves back toward the door, saying to Joe, “I trust the job will be done soon?”

Joe lifts an eyebrow. “It’ll be done when it gets done.” Seth’s mouth goes dry at the blatant rudeness, eyes darting up and over to Master, at the tight jaw that tells Seth he’s _furious_ , but for some reason, he’s refraining from belting it out. “I’ll let you know when it is; until then, no contact.”

Master merely jerks his chin in a rough approximation of a nod and looks at Corbin, who taps at his phone for a few seconds, then puts it away. “Half of your payment has been transferred; the other half will be when proof is shown.” He pulls harshly at Seth’s leash again, Seth following obediently, Corbin opening the door and waiting for Master to pass, brushing uncomfortably close to Seth as he does the same.

From the corner of his eye, Seth sees Joe, staring intently at Seth, and then the three of them are in the hall and the door closed, Joe out of sight.

***

Corbin keep silent the entire way down, but as soon as they’re enclosed in the car, the partition up, he spits out an angry, “What the _fuck_ was that? You let him disrespect you like a-”

“If you value your position,” Master interrupts, looking coolly at the other man, wrapping the leather of Seth’s leash around his fist to drag Seth, on the floor of the car and between his feet, closer. “You’ll forget the rest of that sentence.”

Corbin wisely shuts his mouth.

“Now,” Master continues, his free hand going to Seth’s mass of hair, gripping and twisting, forcing a pained gasp from the younger man. “ _What_ did he do?”

Seth struggles not to wince at the tightening of Master’s fingers, the way his scalp is pulled painfully. “I- I don’t-”

Master jerks his head back, pressing his hand, leash still wrapped tightly around it, to Seth throat, forcing the metal ring and clasp into the tender flesh. “I asked you a question,” Master says. “I expect an answer, not childish stutters.”

Face flushing in embarrassment, Seth waits until Master’s hand is removed from his throat, speaking immediately once it is. “N-nothing, Master. He just- He had a friend,” he said, remembering what Joe had told him. “Mr. Joe showed me to him, and then he left, and Mr. Joe told me to shower and go to sleep.” He bites back a whimper as Master’s grip tightens further. “That’s all, Master.”

Master maintains his hold for a few seconds longer, searching Seth’s face for the slightest hint of a lie (Seth works hard to keep his expression as blank as he normally does, terrified Master will see the dishonesty in his eyes, somehow drag out the numbers flashing in his mind); eventually, he loosens his grip, but keeps Seth in place, looking up at Corbin.

“This job needs to be done,” Master tells the other man. “Certain sacrifices and compromises must be made in business.”

It hurts, being spoken of as a bargaining chip in a business deal; Seth lowers his eyes, focuses on the angled end of Master’s tie (a deep crimson, striped with black), and forces back the curl of humiliation, of rejection, deep in his gut. Little shards of self-disgust stab at him when he places his cheek against Master’s knee, seeking some - _any_ \- sort of attention.

Master is leaning back in his seat now, his fingers still in Seth’s hair - not petting or soothing, just _there_ , a firm presence.  “Which _friend_?” he asks abruptly, yanking at Seth’s hair when he doesn’t answer quickly enough.

The truth is on the tip of his tongue, ready to be told - _Mr. Finn_ \- so it’s strange when what comes out is-

“Tyler Breeze.”

There’s an incredulous silence from both men around him, broken by a disbelieving laugh from Corbin. “How does an _assassin_ have a connection with _him_?” He laughs again, loud and grating, but Master only lifts an eyebrow.

“He had you for the night and invited a socialite over to, what, _stare at you_?”

Seth keeps his eyes on the tie, following one dark stripe. “Yes, Master.” Then, because lying to Master makes him feel queasy, he hastily adds, "Tyler Breeze also fed me sushi and held my hand."

There’s another silence, shorter this time. Seth can feel Corbin’s eyes on him, the way he always can when they’re in the same space, an uncomfortable coldness seeping into his bones, the hair at the nape of his neck standing on end.

Finally, Master simply exhales a hard breath through his nose and looks out the window as the car comes to a halt and the door opens. He uses the leash to drag Seth after him and heads toward the main house instead of Seth’s little cabin, which must mean that his daughters are still at their grandfather’s (Seth is not allowed inside the main house when Master’s children are home), telling Corbin, “Go entertain yourself. We’ll be in my study.”

***

“I know you like your little bitch, Hunter, but isn’t it time you pass him on?” Stephanie asks one afternoon, four days after Hunter left Seth at Joe's.

Seth freezes where he is. He’s still in Master’s office, having forgotten to reattach his leash when he left earlier, and now Master and his wife are walking past the office into the den. The children will be home soon and Seth needs to _go-_

Master makes a noncommittal sound. “Come on, Steph. A man needs someplace to vent.”

“There are professional places for that. Or you can always go back to Shawn or Randy. They don’t live off of us.”

“Honey, I keep him here for convenience is all. And he’s a lot more obedient than Shawn and Randy.”

“Well, our girls are growing a little too curious about your bitch, so you have to hand him over to someone else. I don’t want him around any more. I mean it, Hunter. He’s got to go by the end of the week.” Stephanie sounds aggrieved, and then she adds something that make Seth bite the back of his hand before he can react: “Randy likes him, right? He can take your whore off your hands.”

“That does sound like a good idea,” says Master. “Randy will be delighted.”

“Then that’s settled. Use your bitch to get us that contract with the Orton family, and Randy can do whatever he wants with him,” says Stephanie. It may have been easier if she sounded triumphant, but it’s as if she is going over a grocery list.

Seth’s heart races wildly in his chest. He forces down his nerves and backs away from the door, all the way to the window. The latch - the latch can be opened - he manages to climb out and shut the window before running all the way back to the cabin.

It’s only after he shuts the door that he realizes that he’s left the leash behind. He can’t go back, he _can’t_ , not after Master and Stephanie have decided on his fate so simply between them. Master didn’t even think about asking Seth what he wants, not even a pause of consideration, and isn’t that the story of his life with Master?

Orton. Randy Orton. He was one of Master’s former subs, back when Master owned at least two or three at a go. The mere thought of the man makes his skin crawl and his fingertips twitch with remembered pain.

He still has a few scars from the four times Master has let Orton play with him. Seth hates them. What Orton does is not play, not for Seth. Each of those times Seth was at Orton's mercy, he had nightmares for days after. It’s as if Orton seeks out Seth’s weakest points and use Seth’s fear to get off. The shackles are bearable, even if Orton tightens them too much. But the blindfold always sends him into a bad place in his head. The shock collar is the worst, because Orton would use it whenever Seth started pleading to stop.

And then there was the knife. The knife, slicing shallow lines into his skin, along his spine, over the knuckles on his hand, the tender inside of his elbows. The last time, Seth really thought he was going to die, even begged for his life when the tip had pressed a little too hard on his jugular vein.

 _“Randy likes him, right?”_ Stephanie’s words whisper in the back of Seth’s mind.

No, Orton doesn’t like Seth, he barely gives a shit about who Seth is; he just likes having a victim who won’t fight back. Who’s going to miss Seth if he disappears? And Master casually deciding to toss him to Randy Orton, as if he’s just a _thing_ , as if his feelings don’t matter, or that he is not a person who’s devoted five whole years of his life to pleasing every single one of Master’s whims-

Seth still remembers the number on the card given to him. That surreal afternoon at Joe’s place feels like a hundred years ago. Everyone calling him by his name. Tyler making sure he had something to eat, holding his hand and cuddling him for no reason. Karl and Luke joining him so he was not left alone for long. Joe washing his clothes and making him breakfast.

And the mysterious Finn, offering him a way out.

His fingers are shaking as he digs out his phone. He knows Master - _Hunter_ , he forces himself to think, _Hunter,_  not _Master_ \- tracks who he calls and texts. That’s why he’s stuck with Dean and Roman. But he also knows how to disable the tracker, has known for the past two years. He just wanted to prove to Ma- to Hunter that he had nothing to hide from him.

Now he does.

Just in case Master- Just in case Hunter shows up, Seth stands by the main door, his gaze fixed on the stone path outside. The number he dials from memory rings, and with every ring Seth’s defiance falters. However, on the fourth ring, just as he’s about to hang up, a smooth Irish baritone answers, _“Finn speaking. Who is this?”_

“Mr. Finn? It’s, um, it’s Seth. Seth Rollins. From... that day, at Mr. Joe’s.” Seth suddenly feels like he can’t breathe properly. His hands are clammy and he’s shivering.

 _“I remember, Seth. Call me Finn, please. I’m glad you called.”_ Finn sounds happy to hear from him, and how sad is Seth’s life that a virtual stranger being happy to get his phone call makes Seth’s inside feel just a little warmer? _“Is this call about what I said that day, sweetheart?”_

The moment he hears the endearment, Seth’s words spill from him in a rush. “I don’t know if I wanna leave Master, but he wants to- Mr. Finn, he wants to give me to Orton, and I can’t... I can’t, not Orton, anyone but him, please- Mr. Finn, please, I’ll do anything. Don’t let him have me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Seth is rescued, and yet is a lost puppy.

Master ( _Hunter,_ Seth tells himself again; it’s near impossible to break the habit) is late for his lunch reservation, but he is a regular at Kings, so the restaurant will hold his table for them. Seth is still reeling from the fact that he’s called Finn and Master hasn’t found out yet.

They are having lunch with Orton. Corbin, as always, watches Seth a little too hard, with too much calculation in his eyes. There is no leash today as Kings is a fairly public space, but Seth has his collar on, a discreet one that peeks from the vee of the collar of his white shirt. Finn didn’t say what he’d do, or even promised to do anything, not really, only asked for Mas- for Hunter’s usual schedule.

Orton is waiting on the sidewalk. Not bothering to hide his predatory leer as he looks Seth up and down, Orton says, “Kings is empty. No customers at all.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Corbin says. “Did they say why?”

“I decided to wait until Hunter gets here so they can tell all of us.” Orton trails his knuckles over Seth’s cheek, his lips already curving into a possessive sneer. Seth is motionless, and he doesn’t avert his gaze.

 _Perhaps Mr. Finn won’t or can’t save me,_ he thinks, _but I’m not letting this viper think I’m an easy meal._ His hands are cold and sweaty, but he clenches them into fists.

When they arrive at the restaurant, the head waiter welcomes them at the door, all smiles. “Mr. Helmsley, please, come in.”

Instead of leading them to Master’s ( _Hunter’s_ ) usual table, she leads them to the special VIP room in the back and opens it, ushering them in. Corbin goes in first, followed by Orton, and finally Hunter enters with Seth in tow.

There is a table for four already laid out, and at the head of the table is the enigmatic and handsome Finn. He is again wearing a black suit and tie, though with a white shirt this time. Karl and Luke are standing to the side of the room, looking very casual.

Seth’s breath catches in his throat. _He’s here. He’s come for me._

Finn smiles at them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Helmsley, Mr. Orton. Please, have a seat. Now that we are all here, lunch will be served. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us. Then we can get down to business.”

Ignoring Karl and Luke, Corbin stalks around the table to him and grabs his shoulder. “Who are you?”

Finn grabs Corbin’s hand and slams it onto the table, before stabbing a butterfly knife into the space between his index and middle fingers. The entire exchange takes mere seconds.

“I think you are paid well enough to buy yourself some manners,” Finn says, still polite and cheerful. He looks up and his smile widens a fraction when he sees Seth, but it’s only a momentary reaction.

Though he wants to, Seth can’t smile back. He doesn’t dare to.

“My name is Finn.” He releases Corbin, who returns to his customary perch behind Mast- behind Hunter, his cheeks blotchy with anger and humiliation.

Maste- _Hunter_ takes the seat opposite Finn, and Orton is on his left. On Hunter’s murmured instruction, Corbin goes to stand by the door.

“While you obviously know my name, Mr. Finn,” says Hunter. “I don’t know you at all, and I don’t take lunch with strangers.”

“Well, gentlemen, I do try to be low-key, given my profession, but this is something Mr. Helmsley should recognize.”

He holds up a shiny, silver bullet that is attached to a chain, then slides it across the table for Hunter to catch. Orton grabs it instead.

“It’s just a bullet with the number one etched on it.”

Hunter takes it from Orton and examines it himself. Then he hands it to Seth and says, “Return that to Mr. Finn now.”

Seth obeys. What does the bullet mean?

Finn’s gaze is warm when he sees Seth. “Hello, sweetheart.”

Seth almost responds, but remembers himself and ducks his head, quickly returning to Hunter’s side. His pink cheeks can be explained away by the unexpected comment, but he doesn’t dare look at Master _(‘Hunter, think Hunter, not Master anymore,_ ’ he reminds himself fiercely and guiltily). Hunter only taps the side of the table, an indication for Seth to get to his knees.

They don’t do this at Kings, for the same reason he doesn’t wear the leash. This is just to show that Seth belongs to Mas- to Hunter, and so that Finn can’t look at him. If it had been anyone else sitting across the table, Seth might have felt humiliated. It’s Finn, though, who has already heard Seth babbling tearfully to him, so it’s alright. He folds onto the hardwood floor gracefully, and clasps his hands together on his lap. To his surprise, Hunter clips the leash on.

 _It’ll be okay,_ Seth tells himself. _Mr. Finn is here. I’m gonna be okay._

***

Finn narrows his eyes when Hunter makes Seth kneel. Kings is not that type of establishment, so this is for Finn’s benefit. “That can’t be too comfortable. Karl, give the boy something for his knees, please.”

Karl stands and shrugs out of his jacket, folding it up and going over to Seth’s side. “Mr. Helmsley, may I?”

Hunter meets Finn’s gaze evenly. They are playing by a very specific set of rules now, and not for nothing is Hunter Hearst Helmsley known as The Game. Their paths haven't crossed directly, but some of Finn's former patrons have been screwed over by this man in very bad ways, yet they had no means of retaliation. And always, they talk of _Hunter_ \- his name is his very being. 

The older man nods. “Set it down on the floor. Thank the man, champ.”

“Thank you, sir,” Seth says on cue.

It’s a good thing Finn already briefed the boys on what to expect in this meeting. Karl doesn’t show any emotion and goes back to wait with Luke. While Finn doesn’t like this sort of performance, Hunter Hearst Helmsley is the sort of man who puts his authority on show, and Finn must show he is Hunter’s social equal.

The door opens and the wait staff come in with the chef’s specialty, the poached cod, though they are not sure where to place Seth’s lunch. Hunter tells them to put all of Seth’s food into doggy bags.

Orton pets Seth on the head and tugs on the young man’s ear. “You’re going to have to be a good dog if you want to eat.”

Finn is really going to enjoy taking Seth away from them.

Lunch is a tense, quiet affair. Finn does not fill the silence, and neither do Hunter and Orton. Everyone is observing everyone else. Hunter already knows he’s at a disadvantage, whereas Orton is too smug about his coming acquisition to be wary. Corbin is a fool and can be dismissed. Finn wishes he can look at Seth, to reassure him.

Only after the dishes are taken away then does Finn lean forward, resting his forearms against the table. “So, Mr. Helmsley. I said we’ll discuss business after lunch, so let’s get down to it.”

“If you’ve booked the entire restaurant just for this meeting, then you must want something really badly.” Hunter presses his fingertips together. “What do you want so very badly, Mr. Finn?”

“Just Finn, please. A client of mine showed me a picture of your boy,” Finn says. “I want him.”

Orton snorts. “Back off, Mr. Finn, whoever you are. What, a couple of tough guys and a good suit and you think you can poach him? Seth’s gonna be my bitch.”

“He’s not yours yet, is he, _Randy?_ ” Finn says with a lazy smile. No, Orton may be a vicious and cunning sadist, but he isn’t smart. “Then you are irrelevant to this conversation.”

“Why you-”

“Gentlemen, please,” says Hunter. He stares at Orton until the latter sits back down. “Mr. Orton and I are here to discuss a potential collaboration between Legacy and the McMahon-Helmsleys. Mr. Finn, that is a multi-million dollar venture. I’m not sure someone in your line of work can afford to disrupt this talk.”

Finn lets the condescension slide off him. The deliberate and repeated use of the title is calculated to insult. Hunter likes to demean and belittle, but he also knows how to hide his barbs. “My line of work being a professional dominant? Tell me, Mr. Helmsley, have you ever been to the Bullet Club?”

“I have always had my own companions and had no need of your services.”

“And yet you recognized the token.”

“The Bullet Club is familiar to those of us of a certain... inclination.” Hunter is all smiles now. His good looks have yet to succumb entirely to age, though the edges have been softened by gravity and time. There is nothing soft about his character, that's for certain. Finn won't do him the discourtesy of underestimating him. “Besides, I am aware it’s been closed for over a year. How is it that the Prince of Tokyo is slumming it in this part of the world?”

Finn laughs. “I have friends here. Some of my best clients live in this city.”

“Tyler Breeze being one of them?”

“Yes,” says Finn. “Just one of many well-connected clients. He knows my tastes and sent me a photo of your boy. I liked what I saw then, Mr. Helmsley, and I like him even more now that I’ve seen him in person. I want him.” His smile fades. “I know how to get what I want.”

Hunter looks amused. “You may have to learn how rejection feels like instead.”

“You say you are exploring a multi-million venture with Legacy,” says Finn. “You don’t have lawyers with you, so this is merely a conversation to kick the idea around. Luke?”

Luke hands over Finn’s tablet. “Legacy is facing four class-action lawsuits, boss.”

“Four?” Finn scrolls down the page. “And each one a potential multi-million _payout_. Mr. Helmsley, you haven’t done your due diligence.”

Hunter’s jaw is clenched, and a muscle is twitching in his cheek. Orton is pale, his snake-like features drawn and tense. Eventually, Hunter says, “What is your counteroffer, Mr. Finn?”

Handing the tablet back to Luke, Finn continues, “I have many friends in places even you and your wife cannot access, despite your wealth.”

Finn knows he’s hooked Hunter when the older man narrows his eyes. “Such as?”

“For instance, Texas.” Finn shrugs and relaxes into his chair just enough not to be seen as arrogant. “You and the Rattlesnake had a small altercation some years ago. He’s blocked you from expanding into Texas ever since. But I can help you resolve your differences.” He pauses. “I can even send my best negotiator to assist you in getting the best deal.”

From the way Orton goes white with impotent rage and Hunter's jaw unclenching, Finn is certain he's won.

“We already are meeting with Kane,” Orton reminds Hunter. “We are negotiating with his brother through him.”

Finn places a hand on the table. “Mr. Helmsley. Let me be plain. I will have Seth, and I will have him today. Right now, I am offering a bribe.” He glances at Corbin and at Orton, before fixing his gaze on Hunter. “I prefer that to issuing threats.”

The older man smiles. It is a businessman's smile, detached and cold as stone. “Just out of curiosity, what sort of threats would you have issued, hypothetically speaking?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I’d bankrupt you and then I would ruin your reputation.” Finn plays with the bullet on the chain, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. “I’d shut you out of Canada with the help of the Harts. Then out of New York, through the Flairs - Charlotte’s in charge now, not her old man. You already have trouble in Texas. I’d add to them. The Deadman is old-fashioned, Mr. Helmsley, especially when it comes to this little thing called honor.”

Hunter’s smile is fixed as a mask. Finn has no doubt that ten years ago, the other man would have taken on the challenge. But ten years ago, he didn’t have his children to think about. Finn slides the metaphorical knife in.

“As for your reputation, I’m not sure your current social circle will consider your old clique to be their sort of people. There are photos, Mr. Helmsley. Imagine the shame your daughters will have to endure. I don’t want to put them through that. I’m also in contact with a few people let go from your company, some of whom would gladly tear up their NDA and spill to the press. Something about fraudulent studies, racist and sexist policies, sexual harassment, that sort of thing.” Finn smiles and lets the bullet drop to the table with a soft thud. “Of course, it's all hypothetical.”

***

Seth can't believe Finn dares to threaten Hunter, and yet he has, laying out the trouble he can cause the McMahon-Helmsleys.

There really isn't any other option for Hunter. It is a rare occasion that the powerful man is faced with only one choice. He unclips the leash and collar, then stands, the chair scraping behind him.

“In that case, the bitch is yours now,” says Hunter. This is the first time in years that Seth has been happy to be called a bitch. “When will I hear about Austin?”

“Within two weeks. My negotiator will call on you tomorrow.” _Jericho better clears his schedule._ The Rattlesnake doesn't suffer fools, so Jericho will have a lot to prepare.

Hunter sniffs. Then he looks at Seth who is staring at him, and he smiles at the younger man distantly. “Life brought you a Prince Charming, champ. How terribly lucky for you.” He then walks away without a second glance, the same uncaring dismissal that afternoon at Joe's. Corbin throws one final sneer in Seth’s direction as he follows Hunter.

Seth is still trying to work out what just happened when Orton grabs Seth by the hair and hisses, “You lucky bitch. I'll be waiting, you hear? He'll throw you away before the week is up, you pathetic slut, and I will have you. I’ll hear you begging again.”

Seth winces from the painful grip. He shoves Orton away, and then stumbles upright to his feet. “I don't care if Mr. Finn throws me away after one night. After one _hour_. As long as he gets me away from you.”

“Why you-”

Seth has the immense satisfaction of watching Luke and Karl step in front of him, two human shields, and the snake actually retreating.

“Touch Seth again and you will have no hands,” Mr. Finn says from his seat. “Seth, come here. Boys, escort Mr. Orton to his car.”

Karl and Luke shove Orton out the door. Seth goes to the Irishman and hesitates. Does he stand? Does he sit? Does he kneel? All he is sure of is that he's free. For the first time in five years, he has no one to answer to. There’s no collar to wear, and no leash for someone to lead him around on. He's really and truly free.

“How does it feel, sweetheart?” Mr. Finn asks, the few lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling with gentle delight.

Only then does Seth realise he's spoken aloud. He grins, relieved and grateful. Then reality crashes into him and his joy dissipates.

Seth is free. He belongs to no one but himself now. Where does he go? What does he do?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Finn makes decisions and curses Joe. Also, Bayley.

Finn can’t help but to watch the younger man, blue eyes taking in the uncertain look on his face as he chews. (Finn had insisted on staying, on letting Seth have the meal Hunter denied him earlier, the wait staff bringing out freshly-made food at his order. Karl and Luke are eating also, but outside, giving Finn and Seth some privacy.)

“Is the food alright, sweetheart?” Finn asks. Seth jumps a little, looking startled, but nods his head almost emphatically.

“It’s delicious.”

Smiling, Finn takes a sip of his water, ice clinking against the sides of the glassware. “Kings has some of the best food in the city,” he says, placing his glass back on the black tablecloth, idly swirling his thumb over the rim.

“It’s one of Mas-“ Seth cuts himself off. “H- _Hunter’s_ favorite restaurants.” His brow is furrowed, his fingers white around his silverware, hands shaking, as if he’s frightened he may be punished for saying his old “master’s” name aloud, and Finn wants to go after Hunter _right now_ for putting that fear in this young man, void all promises of money and trade and simply _destroy_ the man’s life.

Instead, he calmly takes a breath, releasing his suddenly tight grip on the glass in his hand, and smiles. “The owner is an old friend,” he tells Seth. “I’ll introduce you the next time he’s here, if you’d like to come back.” Seth only offers a noncommittal shrug, eyes remaining on his mostly-eaten fish. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Seth looks up at him, eyes stormy with emotion, darker than Finn remembers seeing them at Joe’s. “I don’t-“ He seems to struggle with finding the words to say. “I don’t know what to _do_ now,” he confesses, distress evident in his voice. “I’ve always- I lived with Dean and Roman, before, and then Ma- Hunter-“ His eyes dart to the door, then back to Finn, as if he’s still not certain Hunter or Orton won’t return, won’t drag him back with them. “He took me in and gave me everything I needed.” Finn wants to interject that Hunter gave him nothing but fear and abuse, but holds his tongue; there will be time to let Seth see that on his own, later. “I don’t _have_ anything of my own,” Seth says, and he sounds so _lost_ , it twists Finn’s insides.

He’s going to _kill_ Joe.

Finn sits up a little straighter, reassuring Seth, “You’ll have everything you had before.” Seth bites his lip. “A place to stay - I’m not going to put you out on the street, sweetheart; that was never the plan.” That earns him a smile - a small one, but a smile, nevertheless. Finn continues, “Food, clothing, necessities: You’ll not have to ask for them, love, and you’ll not owe me a thing. I want to make that very clear, right now; as long as you choose to stay with me, I will not expect or demand any sort of repayment from you.” Seth’s body seems to loosen, minutely. “If you choose to return to your friends or go elsewhere, the same will be true.”

Seth looks uncertain still, wary to trust Finn’s word, even now, but he nods and chooses his next words with a small frown. “I think I-“ He looks down, nudges the remains of his lunch with his fork. “I don’t want to see them, not yet.” He looks back up, doe eyes determined now, shining. “If you’d allow me, Mr. Finn-“

“Just Finn, sweetheart,” Finn corrects, gently, his lips twitching. “Just Finn.”

“ _Finn_ ,” Seth repeats, and there’s a tiny amount of snark in it that makes Finn want to laugh, delighted. “I’d like to stay with you, if you’ll allow me.”

“That’s that, then. Are you finished?” he asks, gesturing to Seth’s plate. The younger man nods, and Finn beckons to the waiter in the doorway, the man immediately moving to gather Seth’s dish, offering a respectful half-bow to Finn before exiting as quietly as he had arrived. “First things first: We’ll need to get you clothing, shoes, and the like.” Finn glances at his watch and hums. “I have a session in twenty minutes and then go to another work engagement for the evening,” he tells Seth, “but I’ve called up a lovely friend I believe you’ll like to come help you; she’s much better at picking these things than I am.”

Seth’s face falls, just a bit, and he questions, “You aren’t taking me?”

Finn feels a curl of guilt in his gut; it only furthers his desire to _kill Joe_. “I’m sorry, Seth.” He _is_ , is the thing; he can’t imagine what Seth must feel like: first, putting himself almost blindly in Finn’s hands, and then learning he’s being passed off to another stranger, almost immediately. “Bayley will help you gather everything you need - and anything else you may want, sweetheart.” Seth’s expression doesn’t really change, remains in that slightly crestfallen look, and _Joe will pay for putting him in this position_.

“Okay.” It’s soft, a little unsure, but Seth gives a half-nod that Finn takes to mean that it’s acceptable.

As they wait, Finn stares into Seth’s eyes, as big and as dark as a sweet doe’s and just as nervous, and thinks - not for the first time - that he would very much like to strangle Joe.

***

Bayley is as different from Finn as Finn is from Joe. Seth is expecting someone similar to Karl or Luke, intimidating in appearance yet sort of friendly, but Bayley is a ray of sunshine blended with rainbows and joy. She shows up in a baby blue Volkswagen and the first thing she does is to hug Finn, and then Karl and Luke get hugs also. When she comes to Seth, she holds out her arms.

“I hope you’re a hugger,” she says with a bright, welcoming smile.

Seth glances at Finn, who is grinning at them. The Irishman raises his eyebrows. Seth bites his lower lip and goes in for a hug. Bayley laughs and squeezes lightly.

“Hi, I’m Bayley. In case you haven’t noticed, I like hugging people.”

“You’re a lot stronger than you look,” Seth remarks. “I’m, uh, I’m Seth.”

Finn says, “Bayley, I have to go to the Playroom. Here are the spare keys, and pay for anything Seth wants with this. I’ll schedule an appointment at my tailor’s another day.” He hands over a set of keys and a matte black credit card. “Get something nice for yourself too.”

“Finn, we’re going to be late,” Luke says in a low voice.

“Seth, sweetheart, I am really sorry I can’t go with you, but you’re in good hands. Thanks again, Bayley, I owe you one.” He pats Seth on his shoulder and hugs the young woman once more before he and his bodyguards leave.

Bayley stuffs her hands in her pockets. She’s tall and has shiny long hair, kept from her face with a shocking pink-and-purple band. “Alrighty then. Where shall we start?”

“Finn said, um. Shoes, clothes, essential stuff.” Seth rubs his wrists. “Um, m-maybe something to do while Mr. Finn - I mean Finn - is busy.”

She claps her hands twice and motions to her car. “To the Bay-mobile then!”

***

Seth hasn’t shopped for or by himself for five years; the sheer thought is overwhelming. Somehow, Bayley senses his trepidation and makes the executive decision to go to Little Tokyo.

“I love Japanese Village Plaza, and we can have some street food before we get you to Finn’s,” she announces. She squints at him, then leans over to pop open the glove compartment and passes him a hair tie. “It’s way too hot not to tie your hair.” Seth obeys meekly, and she grins at him. There’s something irrepressibly sunny about Bayley that makes Seth feel like they’re old friends, though they have just met.

The mall is brimming with little stores, and the grounds are decorated with Japanese lanterns. Seth was here once with Hunter, when their relationship was new; he feels a slight pang of longing for that day. He grew up in a small town, and LA felt like a glamorous dream. Now he has to learn how to live in it. While Finn is being extraordinarily generous, Seth can’t help thinking that the older man will take it all away once this bout of altruism passes.

They start with the essentials, before loading up on casual apparel and sportswear, and some nice sneakers as well as kitschy flip-flops. (“Finn lives twenty minutes from the beach, silly, you will need beach footwear.”) Bayley also insists on splurging at Kinokuniya (“since I have a membership card and I want points”) and sharing takoyaki. Seth doesn’t get the opportunity to feel awkward about Bayley paying. She always throws something for herself into the purchases and then makes him tote them all to the counter. There are lots of tourists so Seth doesn’t look out of place, poking about the shelves, and there are plenty of funny Japanese goods that they both make jokes over. Bayley also buys herself a ton of sweets and gives half her haul to Seth with a wink. They also pop by a supermarket to pick up ingredients so Seth doesn’t have to call out for food. They have such a pleasant time that he is truly sorry when Bayley has to drop him at Finn’s place.

“It’s super fancy,” she stage-whispers at him, when they are going up the elevator, like they are sharing a secret.

 _Fancy_ is the right word. The very first thing he sees as Bayley leads him in is a grand piano. The walls are taupe, and the ceiling a muted silver. The view is astounding - Seth can see skyscrapers and the rest of the city laid out below like a carpet. There is a pool table on the far side of the living room, with a stylish, modern chandelier over it.

“That door on that end, by the pool table, that leads to Finn’s office, so don’t go in there,” Bayley patters on, holding Seth’s hand as she shows him the place. “Over there is the kitchen - he never uses it, the man can’t cook for love or money - but it has an awesome view. Wait till night falls; it’s super pretty. Behind the kitchen is the TV den. You can see it from this hallway that leads to the bedrooms. One half bath here - yep, and the lights are automated, but you have the switches here also - and that’s the guest suite.”

She throws open the door and tugs him inside. It’s not so sophisticated as to make Seth feel like a country bum, but it is also impersonal. The walls are painted a very pale gray, and the view is breathtaking. On one wall are built-in shelves with a flat-screen TV set into it. He has a strong feeling that the items set on the shelves have been picked out by a designer, not by Finn, and he feels more off-balance than ever. The four-poster king-sized bed also reminds him of less savory memories, but he swallows back his discomfort. “Thanks, Bayley.”

“I hope you like it here,” she says, setting down the purchases. “You have an en-suite bathroom there, and it’s stocked with bath linens and everything.”

“How do you know Finn?”

“Personal assistant! Former personal assistant, really. I helped him buy this place and the Playroom. I’m now training to be a full-time stuntwoman, but I have a fairly flexible schedule so he still keeps me on as a part-time employee.” Bayley’s phone starts beeping and she jumps. “Oh, shit. Listen, Seth, I really wanna stay and help you get settled in, but there’s a shoot tonight and I’m down as one of the lackeys.”

Seth stuffs his hands into his pockets and he smiles as confidently as he can. “Don’t worry about it. I’m a grown man and I can cope. I mean, it _is_ a hardship, having to adapt to this dump, but I’m certain I have the resilience.”

She laughs out loud. “You are definitely his type,” she says, unaware of the unexpected flutter in Seth’s ribs, and hugs him. “Here, his keys and card. Pass them to him for me. I’ll leave you my number, and you can text me anytime.” She takes his phone, frowning slightly, then saves her contact details. “He doesn’t come in till three or four in the morning, so don’t wait up.”

***

By the time Finn gets in, he’s feeling the strain of an emotionally taxing day. Word of the Playroom is spreading, thanks to Tyler and a few other socialites, and while Finn doesn’t intend to see as many clients as he used to, he thinks he wants to train up new professionals. He’s proud of his work in Tokyo, and with Joe here, he thinks he can avoid the same pitfalls.

The lights in the hallway come on as he goes to his bedroom, but the den at the end is already lit up. Curious, Finn goes to check if Seth has been waiting up for him.

Seth is asleep on the gray couch, head resting on one throw pillow. Even in repose, he looks stressed, curled up tightly on his side and hiding his face under an arm. As Finn approaches, he twitches and whimpers, a frown etched deeply in his brow. He flinches from something in his sleep, and Finn decides that it’s kinder to wake him up now, although it is nearly four in the morning.

As gently as possible, Finn reaches out to shake the younger man awake. “Seth?”

“No!” Seth flings an arm out, swiping Finn’s jaw, and _that_ wakes Seth in a hurry. The young man stares up in horror, and then scrambles off the couch, kneeling on the floor with his head pressed almost to Finn’s shoes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Finn, I didn’t mean to, please don’t throw me out-”

Finn is horrified. This is not a scene; they are _not_ _playing_ , and this is his instinctive reaction? His heart twists with sympathy for Seth to have lived like this for _years._ He goes to his knees as well and makes Seth sit up straight.

“Sweetheart,” says Finn, noticing how the endearment seems to relax Seth a little, “it’s okay. You were asleep, you didn’t know. It was an accident. And I told you, you’re staying here for as long as _you_ choose to.”

“But I hit you,” Seth protests.

“I’m fine,” Finn insists, then takes Seth’s right hand and places it where it struck him. “Feel any bumps or scratches there?”

For a second, Seth looks awestruck, and then he glances down and shakes his head, almost shyly. “Just your beard. It’s ticklish.” His fingers curl into Finn’s short beard and scratch lightly, as if he’s petting a cat.

Finn wants to caress Seth’s cheek, maybe draw him in for a kiss. Instead he squeezes the other man’s fingers. “See. We’re all good. Come on now, you should be in bed. The couch isn’t all that comfortable, and I speak from experience.”

“I tried sleeping in the bed,” Seth says quietly. “It felt like I was... Like I was back there.” He plays with the hem of his tee shirt ( _too fucking adorable,_ Finn thinks) and mumbles, “It feels less lonely on the couch.”

The Irishman hasn’t thought about that. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that,” he says, trying to think of a solution, or at least an answer that doesn’t involve Seth sharing his bed, because he doesn’t want to give the impression that he wants sex in payment. Seth's had enough men taking advantage of him.

His hesitation must show on his face, because Seth says, “I can sleep out here.”

“Nonsense. My bed is huge.” Finn is too exhausted to think about this rationally. It’s just for one night, and he’s sure he has made it clear enough that he expects nothing from Seth. “Come on.”

“Mr. Finn-”

“Seth, sweetheart,” Finn begins, then turns to hold him by the shoulders. “Seth, it’s alright. We’re just sleeping in the same bed. I promise I won’t do anything to you, and I don’t want you to think that we need to do _anything_ other than sleep, okay? And once again, it’s just Finn.”

“Finn.” Seth huffs in amusement and bashful gratitude. Then he adds, with a cheeky little smirk, “It’s three forty-five. I think you’re a little too tired to do anything in the first place.”

Anyone else and Finn would have them eat their words, but Seth feeling comfortable enough to sass him (even this mildly) gives him sufficient satisfaction to let it slide. As he brushes his teeth and changes into a pair of shorts, Finn tries and fails to remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone he isn't fucking. Seth waits by the foot of the bed, fidgeting with his fingers, and only slides into bed after Finn has got in and flipped down the duvet.

Seth stays on the far edge. Finn sighs. It has been a very long day. "Come closer, sweetheart. I'm not gonna eat you." 

The younger man hesitates, blushing, and then scoots closer, until Finn can feel his body heat. Then Seth reaches up, as if he's going to touch Finn's cheek, but he just closes his fingers on the corner of Finn's pillow. "Goodnight, Finn."

"Goodnight, Seth," Finn says, and turns off the lights. Damn Joe and his soft heart for pretty young men. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Finn and Seth get used to living together, and then Finn gets a dick pic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Finn's going to the Rumble to challenge bork and I (PQ) wanna celebrate, hence an earlier release.  
> We Believe In Finn Balor!

Finn wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of deliciousness. He sits up, groggy and confused, and squints at his bedside clock. _Eight in the morning, ugh._ He’s tempted to lie back down and sleep, but he has never been able to fall back asleep once he wakes up.

The other side of the bed is slightly wrinkled, but the pillows have been stacked neatly. Last night, Finn fell asleep hearing Seth’s slow breathing, and since he wasn’t startled awake by nightmares, either Seth slept soundly too, or he stayed very still. Finn hopes it’s the former. By the time he gets to the kitchen, he’s fully awake, though he’s still slightly grumpy; he’s never been a morning person. Joe is obnoxious about it, because Joe is obnoxious about everything and has the irritating ability to wake up whenever he wants.

Seth is pouring batter into a frying pan, humming to himself. Finn leans against a pillar to watch the younger man work. On the island there is a plate of bacon, a plate of sausages, scrambled eggs and sunny-side-ups. as well as a box of cereal and a jug of milk. Coffee is brewing in the machine. It’s ridiculous and thoughtful. He chuckles to himself and thinks that he may have to work extra hard in the gym to work it all off.

That little motion catches Seth’s attention. He smiles at Finn. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Finn says, yawning. He scratches his waist and sits down. “Everything looks delicious. A little too much for the two of us, but I’ll do my best.”

Seth flushes and shifts his weight from foot to foot as he flips the pancake. “Um, I didn’t know what you usually eat for breakfast, so I made options. Unless you want something else.”

“No, no, these are good. I don’t usually wake up in time for breakfast, to be honest. Sausages and eggs, maybe a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“You don’t have a cast iron skillet,” Seth informs him, serving up a stack of pancakes. “You don’t have bread either. Or cheese.”

Finn shrugs. “Just buy anything you need to make whatever you want.”

“Oh!” Seth runs off, presumably to get the keys and card. Finn squints at the pancake. It has a smiley face. Levering up the top one with a fork, he sees that the second one has a smile too, as do all the rest. It’s adorable. He grabs a plate to serve himself and also pours himself some coffee.

Seth comes back. “Here they are,” he says, setting the keys and card on the counter. “Sorry. I should have given them to you immediately.”

The older man puts them right back in Seth’s hands. “Don’t apologize when you've done nothing wrong, love. Now, the keys are yours, so you can come and go as you wish, and you can use the card freely. Just don’t try to buy something too extravagant like a helicopter or a house with it.”

“That’s... um. That’s very generous.”

Finn smirks. “Why, are you planning to take advantage of my generosity?”

“Sorry-” Seth cuts himself off and bites his lower lip. Instead he grins and scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, thanks. And I won’t, I promise.”

“I trust you.” Finn serves himself a bit of everything and tries the sausages. “These are delicious.”

Seth visibly brightens up. “Really?”

“Really,” says Finn. “Mm. Pancakes. Pass me the syrup?” Finn loads up with butter and maple syrup, thinking _fuck it, I’ll just lift more weights today_ , and asks, “Why do all of these have smiley faces?”

Seth’s face falls slightly and he tugs on his ear. “It’s gonna sound stupid.”

 _Shit. I shouldn’t have asked._ Finn pulls the bar stool next to him closer and pats it. The younger man sits down, and visibly jolts when Finn takes his hand. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Seth takes deep breaths, like he’s trying to maintain his composure, and when he looks at Finn, he has a tiny, ironic curve to his lips. “I just like them. Sometimes, I don’t get a smile all day otherwise.”

It breaks Finn’s heart. From their first meeting, it was clear to Finn that Seth thrives on positive feedback. The way he craves companionship and affectionate touches, the way he works hard to please... Finn has a lot of damage to undo. Or perhaps he should ask Seth to see a therapist.

“Well,” Finn says, gazing fondly at Seth, “as long as you’re staying here and making these amazing breakfasts, you’ll always get a smile from me.”

“Watch out, I may never leave,” Seth quips, but his cheeks are pink and the corners of his eyes crinkle up. Finn laughs and eats his breakfast. It really is delicious.

***

It’s sweet that Finn lets Seth spend his first real day of freedom with him. They hit the gym (and damn, the Irishman is _ripped_ , so Seth gets competitive on the weights), and then they go on a walk around the neighborhood. Only Luke shows up to walk with them. (Karl’s baby boy is fussy and wants his papa, Luke tells them, and shows Seth photos of Karl’s kids. They're all cute as heck.) It’s an upscale area, all hip boutiques and ultra-modern cafes, but there are a few shops that look interesting and not overly geared towards the super stylish.

“I wonder if there’s a garden center nearby,” Seth remarks artlessly as he pokes about a florist’s with candy-pink decor. “It’ll be nice to have fresh herbs.”

“Do we have enough space to grow them?” Finn asks. He seems clueless about gardening.

Seth is flustered. “Container gardening doesn’t take up a lot of space, not really, but I mean, it's not necessary, and it's probably gonna clash with the décor...”

The older man just smiles broadly. “Fuck the décor. If you want herbs, we’ll get them. Luke, you think you can find us one of those places?”

Luke rolls his eyes. “What am I, Google Maps?” He winks at Seth, though, so he’s not really annoyed. He finds them one anyway. Seth not only ends up with an array of herbs, but also three moth orchids. He’s always wanted to try growing them, but Hunter thought it was a frivolous hobby.

When they get back, the doorman stops Finn. “Mr Finn, there is a package and a letter for you.”

“Thank you,” says Finn, nodding to Luke to take the large box while he takes the orchids from him. A faint frown appears between his eyebrows when he looks at the letter. “This is Seth Rollins. He’s staying with me until further notice.”

The doorman half-bows. “Mr Rollins. Curtis, at your service.”

“Hi Curtis. Call me Seth, please.”

“The doorman on the other shift is Bo,” Curtis tells him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Seth.”

Once they get up to the penthouse, Luke sniffs the air. “Holy crap, someone finally put that kitchen to use! Seth, thanks, man. It’s a waste for Finn to own a kitchen. He fucking burns _water_.”

“Keep talking about my shortcomings as a cook and you’re barred from the fridge. Seth, I’ll put the orchids in the TV den for now.”

“Finn is the best cook ever!” Luke declares, and then whispers to Seth, “Don't _ever_ eat his cooking.”

“I know you’re bad-mouthing me, Gallows!” Finn calls out, though he is out of sight.

Seth laughs and covers his mouth. It’s refreshing to see Luke and Finn’s interaction. It’s clear that Luke is an employee and a friend. Master - _Hunter_ \- never jokes around like this with anyone that Seth’s met. Luke sets the big box down on the dining table and checks out all the leftovers Seth’s put in the fridge.

It's then that Seth sees that the box is sent by Hunter. His heart lurches into his throat. He wants to know what is in it. Approaching it feels like approaching a bomb.

Finn's returned to the kitchen by then. “Do you want to read the letter?” He sounds neutral, but there's faint disapproval in his gaze.

“What did he say?” Seth asks. He doesn't want to look at Hunter's writing, and think about the man in his office chair. Or the way his left hand used to trail down Seth's neck while his right is busy scribbling on a notepad.

“Maybe he explained how he knows of this address,” Luke scoffs. He's eating the pancakes cold while something's heating up in the microwave. Finn sends him a sharp look.

“He wishes you well in your new adventure,” Finn says, “and that all your belongings that can be moved are in that box.”

“All of them?” Seth's throat feels tight and he has to deliberately slow his breathing. A strange relief floods him. _He did care. He doesn’t hate me. He could've thrown it all away and he didn't, he packed everything and sent it to me._

“Why don't you take it to the guest suite and unpack? See if he's missed anything out.”

Seth lugs it all away. His hands are clammy as he opens the box, and right on top is the photo of when he won the tournament and Hunter was there, arm over his shoulders. He had half his hair bleached blond, some stupid adolescent affectation to look cool. The sun was too bright so he was squinting, his chest and arms nearly hairless then, sand caking his feet and shins. Hunter looked incredible then, like Hercules come to life, golden and tanned, powerful in physique and influence.

God, it had been so good. They were so new then, Seth learning how to please Hunter in bed and outside of it, learning to be an obedient submissive. Hunter's hands, gripping him firmly and so strong, moving Seth as he wanted; his mouth, murmuring praises when Seth did as instructed, pressing kisses to secret places as they learned each other's bodies; his face, soft with something like delight and pride, as Seth rode him to completion, gagged and bound and still hungry for more...

With a shaky exhalation, Seth set the photo aside. It's over, whatever he had with Hunter. He pulls out other things: his clothes, his books, his photos of Dean and Roman, even his mug and his toothbrush... There's a knock at the door.

“Everything there?” Finn asks.

Seth nods. “Do you think I can return the clothes Bayley and I bought? I can pay you back all the money now that I don't need new stuff.”

“Don't worry about that,” says Finn. “New start, new clothes, right?” He sorts through the pile of plain black tee shirts. “I like what you're wearing now, and I know Bayley would've insisted on fun prints. I'd like to see you in them.”

If Finn wants him to wear stuff other than his old shirts, then Seth can do that. He smiles, feeling happy. “I can't believe he went to all this trouble for me.”

“I can.” Finn isn't quite as glad as Seth. But he doesn't say anything more on the matter.

***

Before the end of two weeks, Finn knows he’s in trouble.

Not simple trouble, like his lawyer Jericho threatening him with bodily harm for involving him in a turf war between the Rattlesnake’s Broken Skulls and Helmsley, bitching to him in a very long profanity-laden string of text messages. Finn just tells him to bill his account. (Jericho can handle himself, he just likes to bitch about the difficulties.)

It’s capital-T _Trouble_ , as in the fact that he is growing used to Seth living in his space and sharing his bed (one night became two became three, until _Finn_ finds it hard to sleep alone), and they aren't even in a relationship, though Finn finds it a little more difficult to believe that when he comes back at the end of his sessions at the Playroom to find Seth already snoring softly on his side of the bed, one hand holding the corner of Finn’s pillow. Sometimes Seth is awake and reading on the tablet. On a couple of nights, Seth jerks awake from nightmares, his body so tense he can't relax unless Finn is holding his hand or spooning him. (Finn's body is getting very conflicted about all the physical contact. There are many mornings when his showers run a little long.)

It's the routine, Finn thinks. It's making him want to keep Seth to himself, to turn this into his way of life. He doesn't tell Seth, of course. The younger man doesn't need to have his fledgling sense of independence impeded. Seth is looking at online courses, and has even found a part-time job at a 24-hour convenience store not too far from the Playroom; next Monday, he will go to work.

 _'i can't do this,’_ Finn texts Joe the Sunday afternoon before Seth starts work. He's between sessions and unwinding.  _‘he is ruining everything about my life. he bakes cookies 4 Sasha n the boys every other day n they're making me promise to keep him, he's been cleaning the apt but he won't ask 4_ anything _, n he wears an apron in the kitchen when he cooks, a goddamn apron, what the fuck do i do?’_

_‘Boo hoo, poor you. Get over yourself. I'm on a fuckign job, the food is crap, everything stinks and it's 3am here, you whiny little shit, so shut up and enjoy the cookies.’_

Finn growls under his breath. _‘Someday soon i hope u meet ur own Seth n u will be begging me 4 advice’_

Joe replies swiftly. _‘1. I'm not soft for a pretty face like you 2. Why the hell would I ask you anything when you can't even get round to touching him 3. You're a goddamn moron.’_

Damn Joe to hell and back. Finn sends him a picture of his middle finger, as if he's twenty again, flirting with the big scary asshole in the bar just to see how far he can push his luck.

Joe sends him a blurry dick pic in retaliation, because he is still that big scary asshole who fucked Finn in the alley behind the bar after Finn spent all night teasing him.

(He still doesn't know what to do about Seth.)

***

Seth is nervous about working after five years without, but Mick is a friendly sort (he looks like a giant teddy bear that has a missing ear).

“Neighborhood is nice enough that we aren't likely to be robbed,” Mick says. “But if anyone comes in wanting trouble, don't fight them. No sense losing your life over money.”

“How do you even earn profits like that?” Seth asks, bemused.

Mick shrugs. “I'm not interested in money. This is just something to pass the time.”

(Seth later learns that the shop isn't a target because Mick isn't merely a friendly owner of a convenience store, that the barbed wire bat under the counter is infamous, and that he's played Santa for fifteen years. That last bit impresses Seth more than anything else.)

Next door is a tattoo parlor, whose resident artist is a heavily tattooed, quiet man who pops in to grab dinner at the start of Seth's shift. He always has the scent of sandalwood on him. They often exchange a smile and a nod, no words. Intimidating though he looks, Seth thinks Aleister Black looks like someone who can be a friend.

He still hasn't contacted Dean or Roman. It’s been long enough between calls that they’ll worry, but he is afraid. He should, he knows he should; he's even got a new phone and a new number. The old one he keeps charged and on him at all times. He doesn't know if he wants it to ring or not.

The job in itself is not too demanding, and being able to spend the hours away from Finn doing something that gives him a level of independence is reassuring. While Finn hasn't shown any inclination to kick him out, Seth knows that he's not worth keeping around. Being able to earn some money on his own gives him security. Mick mainly needs someone more mobile than him to stock the shelves and move things around, and to give him a few hours’ break to catch up on his rest.

(The first time Finn drops Seth at work, Mick is amused. “You got a boyfriend in a Jaguar with a chauffeur and you want to work _here?_ You're a strange kid, Rollins.” Seth wants to explain but he's already incredibly embarrassed, so he just ducks his head and gets into the shop.)

There are days he feels wrong-footed, because he’s not sure if he’s done something wrong, but Finn never berates him, not even that time when Seth accidentally spilled water on the grand piano. Instead, the Irishman gives him space to find himself again, encouraging him to pick up where he left off after graduation. Seth isn’t certain he can ever be an architect, but having someone who believes he can do it gives him a bit of faith that perhaps, he can rediscover who he used to be, before Hunter changed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the oneshot about sassy twink Finn flirting with young Daddy Joe to get what he wants is up, you thirsty peeps. check out Part 2 of Finn's Playroom 'verse.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Tyler is soft and Seth finally breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PQ: I am sorry. Also, seriously - read the tags.  
> meatshack: Oops? Enjoy (and read the tags). <3

Nearly a month after he left Hunter, Seth has adapted to Finn’s routine: a late breakfast, two hours at the gym (sometimes three), and then Seth putters around the apartment to clean up, maybe get in an hour of online studies (he's refreshing his memory of what he's learned in school), while Finn works in his home office. Then they have an early dinner before they go off to their respective workplaces; if Finn’s sessions for the night end at 1 a.m., he picks Seth up from work and they go home together. (It’s a nice thought, _home with Finn_ , but Seth doesn’t dare to push his luck that far.)

Much to Seth's relief, Finn seems to like having the younger man close by. On the second day, struck by a sudden panic at being alone, Seth sought Finn out in and sat on the carpeted floor within touching distance, although he didn't reach out for physical contact. Finn noticed and shifted himself so Seth's shoulder was pressed to his shin. They sit side by side on the couch now, though Seth sometimes chooses the floor, because it's familiar, and Finn ends up combing his fingers through Seth's long hair. They don't talk about this.

On more than one occasion, Finn links hands with him when they walk, seemingly without realizing. He apologized the first two times but after that, Seth reached out for Finn's hand, and now it feels natural to have Finn rubbing his thumb on the side of Seth's palm when they stroll down the street and head to lunch. Much to his own confusion, he feels shy and thrilled whenever a passer-by notices their joined hands. They don't talk about this either.

At night, if Seth is restless or if he wakes from a nightmare, Finn pulls him in and makes him the little spoon. (Seth has thought about sleeping in the guest suite, has tried another two, three times, but he could never sleep in it; in the end Finn just told him to use the guest suite as his own office or personal space, and sleep in the master bedroom.) Seth should feel funny about this, but all he feels is safe and protected. He didn’t realize he missed that feeling until he has it back, and now he never wants to give it up. If Finn knows Seth is falling for him, he doesn’t give any indication; his touches are respectful, never provocative or insinuating. Even when he’s spooning Seth, he makes sure to leave the younger man’s arms free. They don't talk about what any of these actions mean.

For the first time in years, Seth feels like he's part of the world. He has people to talk to outside of Finn. Bayley, who sometimes sends videos of her doing crazy stunts or intense fight scenes, is very busy but always makes time for a snap if Seth asks for one. Karl loves any excuse to show off his hot Asian wife and their four kids, and shares with Seth snippets of life with Finn when they were still in Japan, though in very general terms. Luke is newly single, so he gets Seth to look at the different young women who matched up with him on dating apps, and takes him out for the best pho Seth has ever tasted.

***

It’s one of those days when they’re supposed to return to the apartment together so Seth is looking forward to that. Mick is in a good mood, and adds a nice bonus to Seth's paycheck. Seth feels absurdly proud of it, even though this is not his first paycheck - he used to work as a bagger back home in the holidays - and takes a photo to send to Finn, who replies with a thumbs up emoticon. 

Not long after the start of the shift, a kid comes running in. His mother is behind him and looks exhausted. “Benjamin, get back here now, don't touch anything!” she shouts.

It's too late. There's a crashing, glass breaking, and Seth winces. He grabs the first aid kit and runs to the liquor aisle, afraid that the kid is injured. Thankfully, he's just shaken, but two bottles are shattered on the lino tile.

The mother sighs and scoops up her son. “Ben, I told you: don't touch things without permission. You end up breaking them.” She pays for the damage and apologizes profusely.

As Seth cleans up, he can’t stop replaying the woman's words. _Don’t touch things without permission. You end up breaking them._ Something coils tight and ugly in his chest. He swallows down the feeling, but he feels unnaturally cold, and for some reason he hears Hunter saying _suck it up, champ, you know your place_...

“-Seth? Seth, hey.”

With a start, Seth blinks and inhales sharply. Aleister studies him, a slight frown between his eyes.

“You don’t look too good,” Aleister says, in his low rasp, and takes the mop from him, calling for Mick at the same time. Seth wants to reclaim it, wants to say that he’s okay, but words are stuck in his throat and he can’t get Hunter out of his head, Hunter telling him to _obey if you love me, you don't get to say no, don’t ever question my decisions, I know what’s best for you..._

Mick takes one look at Seth’s face and sends him home. “Take a couple days off, kid.” Aleister waits with Seth until his Uber shows up, and wishes him a good night.

***

Finn gets a text that Seth has gone home early, and worries about that all through his two sessions. The latter is Tyler who picks up on his distraction and is pouty and disagreeable at first. Finn makes it up to him, fucking him long and slow with his favorite toy while he's shackled to spreaders and already wrung out from the two orgasms Finn drew from him earlier. The insides of his thighs as well as his ass are bright pink with welts; Finn skates his thumbs over Tyler's nipples, sensitized by clamps used earlier in their scene.

“Please, sir, I can't,” Tyler sobs, “I _can't_ , not so soon.”

“Yes you can, pet, you _will_ ,” Finn whispers, mouth hot on the soft spot under the blond's right ear. “Because I say so. And you want to please me, gorgeous, you know you do.”

“Sir, please, I can't-” Tyler gasps when Finn bites his earlobe, just as his thumbnail scratches lightly over his slit, and he wails when Finn pushes the dildo hard into him at a precise angle. His feet are scrambling to brace himself, but he can't do anything but take it. Finn switches gears to hard and fast, enjoying the sounds he's driving out of Tyler with the toy, until the young man is slick with tears and sweat, until all he can say is _please_ and _sir_ and _yes_ , until he finally climaxes and sags into Finn's hold, his knees going slack.

Finn slides the dildo out slowly, Tyler whining as he does, and then unshackles the young man. Tyler clings to him as Finn carries him to the soft pile of cushions and wraps him in a thick, fluffy robe. Finn croons extravagant praises into his silky hair and pets him, feeling a little guilty for not focusing on their scene fully. Loose-limbed and entangled with Finn, Tyler practically purrs from the affection and nuzzles close.

“Thank you, sir,” he murmurs. Post-scene Tyler is a sweet, subdued kitten, the shell of his celebrity stripped away. “Did I do well?”

Finn wishes Tyler could allow himself to be like this more often, but the young man is apprehensive about letting his real self be seen and risk criticism. “You did so well, pet, so well. I'm going to take care of you now.”

He cleans Tyler up with hot towels, since the younger man prefers to bathe at home, kissing and praising the younger man until he can't stop smiling, his cheeks flushed a charming rose pink. Only when Tyler feels more himself does Finn personally walk him to the car where his chauffeur is waiting.

Tyler tucks himself into Finn's hold. “I'll be in Italy for a week with my boyfriend,” he whispers. Still too raw for the world, it seems. “Can I see Seth when I come back?”

“Of course, gorgeous, anything you want.” Finn smiles into Tyler's cheek. “Have fun. Be safe. Call me if you want to talk.”

“Isn't Daddy back yet?”

“No, darling, not yet. What, am I not enough for you?” Finn teases.

Tyler wrinkles his nose at him, his armor not rebuilt enough to be sassy, and slides into the vehicle. Finn watches it until it's out of sight.

Luke and Karl show up in the Jaguar immediately after. “Sasha said you seemed distracted,” Karl explains. “She'll lock up.”

Finn texts a thank you to Sasha and she asks for more cookies in payment. She's yet to meet Seth but his cookies have won her over, and Bayley's endorsement hasn't hurt. He smiles, thinking about Seth baking and cooking. Finn hasn't eaten this well in years. And the penthouse feels less empty now, what with the herbs by the dining room window and the orchids, as well as Seth's books that materialize in odd corners of the apartment. For some reason (and Finn bets he knows just what reason that is), Seth prefers to sit on the carpet and in the corners, like he wants to take up as little space as possible. 

Damn Joe to the ninth circle. This is all his fault.

When he gets in, he finds Seth curled up in a corner in the master bedroom, away from the bed, and he is staring at a framed photo. The tablet is next to him. There is a blankness in the young man's expression that scares Finn.

Finn approaches with caution. “Seth, sweetheart, what's wrong?”

The younger man doesn't answer at first. Finn waits, keeping very still. Eventually, Seth says, “I’ve been reading up. On doms and subs. Permissions and consent. I didn’t know... He said, Hunter _said_ he knows better, that I have to trust... He didn’t _teach_ me... Everything I thought I knew is wrong.”

“Oh.” Finn stops, about two steps from him, and wonders how to proceed. Time and distance sometimes allow a person to really see all the things they used to be blind to. In a way, he's been expecting and dreading this moment. Seth is smart but also deeply loyal; Finn has guessed that Seth chose not to research, chose to trust Hunter back when they first hooked up, but even the most loyal will have a measure of curiosity.

“I think Hunter broke me,” Seth whispers. He’s trying to maintain a composed facade, Finn can see he’s trying, and it is so _hard_ not to hide him away from all the pain in the world. “I think he broke me, and I don’t understand why I let him.”

 _Oh, Seth._ He sits down in front of Seth, carefully not touching him. “I think it was because you loved him, sweetheart.”

“I wish I'd met you instead of him.” As he speaks, his voice becomes rougher. “He never told me to... To read up. To research, or learn. He said he'd guide me through everything. Told me... told me I’d obey if I loved him. I didn’t know- He was my dom, he said he’d decide for me... He sent me to his _friends-_ ” Seth spits the word out with a snarl, and tears creep down his cheeks, “He let them _use_ me, like I'm some kind of party favor-” He inhales sharply, painfully, and shuts his eyes. “Finn?”

“I'm here.”

“You won't lie to me, right? Not even to make me feel better.”

Finn risks touching Seth's knee. “I won’t lie to you.”

“It was rape, wasn't it?” Seth asks, the words barely audible. “All of it, all the times I didn't want to, and they... And Hunter, the fucking _bastard_... He fucking lied to me, he let them do... He told them, he told them to do what they wanted, and I didn't know, how could I not _know_ -” He pauses and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Was it rape?”

If only Finn has some way to soften the blow. Squeezing Seth's knee, he speaks as kindly as he can. “Yes. If they... if they had sex with you without your consent, then you were raped. But it wasn't your fault. It wasn’t.”

A heartbeat of silence, an eternity, then Seth _shatters_. He drops the photograph and covers his face, gasping harshly for air, uncontrolled and desperate. Tears seep through the gaps of his fingers.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I truly am.” Finn pulls the young man into his arms, aching to make all the pain go away. How long has Seth sat here, brooding over these dark and agonizing thoughts? The younger man hides his face in Finn's neck, shuddering as he weeps, and Finn can hear him trying to apologize for the tears. The Irishman embraces him tightly and kisses the top of his head.

“You've done nothing wrong, sweetheart, there's no need to say sorry,” Finn whispers. He's so proud of Seth for the courage to look at his past with Hunter. He'll have to persuade him to attend counseling, but at least Seth has taken the first step.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Joe meets someone... intriguing.

It has taken nearly longer than Joe originally estimated, but the job is finally over: target eliminated; visual confirmation, as well as autopsy and media reports provided (all through separate and untraceable servers, thanks to a few connections and his own tech savvy - a man can’t work efficiently in this day and age without at least the slightest bit of technological knowledge, Joe firmly believes); now, Joe has more money in his account and he is _home_ (as home as any place feels to him, really; Los Angeles has always felt like _more,_ though).

He goes through the familiar motions of the standard security checkpoints once more, hefts his single carry-on duffel over his shoulder, and heads for the exit. He’s rolling his eyes at Finn’s latest melodramatic ramble about the kid (“What the goddamn _hell_ am I supposed to do about this, Joe? You will never be forgiven this transgression, and all the saints will curse your name; you'll suffer as I have suffered.”) as he steps outside, snatches a taxi out from under an arguing couple with their luggage stacked beside them on the sidewalk (“ _You_ were supposed to grab the boarding passes, _not me_! I reminded you before we even left the apartment!”) and gives his address to the driver. It’s after midnight, the artificial lights of the airport giving way to the artificial brightness of LA streets and skyscrapers, the night sky of the city glowing faintly; pollution is sometimes pretty.

 _Samoa Joe’s_ , for all its reputation of a glorified criminal hangout when he’d first opened it after he’d settled in LA eight years ago, is Joe’s pride; it’s come a long way, Joe remodeling five years ago as word spread and his clientele expanded, Joe adding in more private booths and bar top space as more than just fellow characters of the (slightly) unsavory variety began stopping by. (New patrons rarely last long, though, Joe’s regulars scaring them away; it’s amusing, honestly.) He’s since purchased the entire building, all three floors above his bar, his living space on the second floor. It is a reflection of him: the bar is the face shown to the public, the apartment for those he considers acquaintances and friends, his private armory and other resources on the third, and the top floor his sanctuary. Out of all the people he trusts (and _that_ is a very small number in itself), only Balor has been there, the first week the Irishman moved to LA. Joe is not a spiritual man, but the top floor is a sacred space to him, a place to retreat to and release whatever regret, anger, or guilt he has from his jobs.

Everything is still a little quiet; the drunken shenanigans usually start up around one, so Joe simply pays the cabbie, grunting a _thanks_ and handing him a decent tip before heading inside, a round of greetings shouted at him as he heads behind the bar.

“About _time_ you come back here,” a raspy, heavily accented voice says. “We were about to petition to have you declared legally dead and take over the bar completely.”

Joe snorts, turning to face the tall, slim woman. The deep blue in her hair is set off by the striking paleness of her skin and the rest of her black-as-night hair and attire. “That requires five _years_ , not five _weeks_ , English.”

Paige scowls and slaps her hand on the bar top, scarcely missing a full shot glass, which is immediately taken by the man in front of it, a wary look tossed her way. “You know, that nickname is still the least creative I’ve ever heard, seven years later.”

“And still,” Joe says, “you’ve yet to attempt to stop me.”

Her button nose wrinkles and her pretty eyes, made even darker by the black makeup surrounding them, roll skyward. “It wouldn’t make for a good, possible future job employment impression if I’d murdered my last boss, now, would it?”

Joe laughs. “I’d love you to try, _English_.”

Paige merely narrows her eyes and shoos him away with a swift flick of her wrist, effectively dismissing him in his own bar, drawing another chuckle from him as he moves to the back room, passing through it to his office.

_“Thank bleedin’ Christ.”_

A tablet is shoved into Joe’s chest, Joe’s quick reflexes saving it from shattering on the floor. Fiery red-orange hair, one sectioned bit in some sort of complicated twist that Joe has no clue how she accomplished, bounces with her every step, combat-booted feet stomping by him.

“You take those damned expense reports and shove them right up your arse.”

Joe doesn’t try to hide his satisfaction or his amusement. “Not so easy, is it, Rebecca?”

Her full first name makes her evil eye a little fiercer. “I don’t like your tone, _Joseph_.”

Unconcerned, Joe drops into his desk chair, inputting the tablet code and backtracking to the week he’d left. “I’m sure you don’t,” he says, then looks up, one brow lifted. “What witchcraft did Paige pull to get you to do these?”

There’s a moment of pure silence, then Becky mutters something under her breath.

“Didn’t catch that, kid,” Joe teases; her glower darkens.

“We had a bet; I lost.”

“Aren’t all you Irish supposed to be lucky?” Before she can retort, no doubt with a scathing comment, he asks, “What was the bet?”

Becky’s visible ear and her cheeks go pink - and, _oh_ , Joe is intrigued; there aren’t many things on the planet that can make _Becky Lynch_ blush.

“Never you mind!”

With that, she turns on her heel and stalks from the room, nose in the air, hair flying, leaving Joe blissfully alone, smug smirk on his face.

***

It’s nearly two when Joe finally looks up, the sounds of an argument reaching him - loud and angry and, of course, drunken. He’s prepared to sit back and let Becky or Paige handle it (they’re extraordinarily capable women; Joe has, on three other occasions, gone out to break up a fight or an argument, only to discover his services unnecessary, either with Paige humming along a bit _too_ cheerfully with the background music or Becky nonchalantly examining her chipped nails, all his patrons staring wide-eyed at one or both of them), but then the sound of breaking glass echoes, and Joe shoves back from his desk, anger rising high. These assholes come into _his_ bar and-

Joe barges out of his office, marches into the store room and through the door connecting it and the main bar, ready to put anyone who needs to be on the goddamn floor _there_ and then on the street, but he’s greeted by a rather unusual and alarming sight.

_Cop._

_Two cops_ , he corrects himself.

There’s a slender man straddling the backs of someone’s thighs (Joe’s never seen him before, that he can place - and Joe is _very_ good at placing people, _has_ to be in his line of work, risks his own safety otherwise), quick hands holding both of the man’s wrists at the small of his back, one handcuff ring already snapped around his right wrist, left following. Several of his regulars are staring at the cops, one’s hand twitching nervously at his side; Joe shakes his head, a minute motion, and the guy visibly forces himself to relax.

Good; the last thing Joe needs is _multiple_ arrests putting police attention on his building.

“Are you the owner, sir?”

The second cop - dark-skinned and more solidly built than the one on top of the man on the floor, obvious even under their protective vests - steps up to Joe; his name plate reads: _Officer C. Alexander._

Joe confirms, voice gruff, “It’s my building.” He flicks his gaze around the bar; everyone is casually returning to their previous conversations, sipping their beers, all keeping their faces away from the officers. “What can I do for two of L.A.P.D.’s finest?”

Officer Alexander runs a hand over the wide strip of shiny-black, curly hair running down the center of his head. His own eyes travel slowly around at the patrons, brow furrowed. “Your customers seem pretty unaffected by this.” It’s almost casual, the way he says it.

Joe doesn’t like it - or _him_.

“It’s LA,” Joe replies, just as casually, a careless shrug accompanying it. “A lot of people are used to violence and cops.” He gestures to the first officer, hauling the handcuffed man to his feet. “Drunken idiots are a staple in most bar establishments, too.”

 _Officer C. Alexander_ narrows his dark eyes. “Your patrons fight often?”

“Ced,” a smooth voice interrupts, “did you radio in?”

Joe looks over again, the first cop’s face finally visible, and-

_Well._

“ETA, two minutes,” _Ced_ tells his partner.

 _Great,_ Joe thinks. _More cops._ He recognizes his own discontent in most of the bar’s occupants: a subtle shift here; a disgruntled exhale there; a few nervous glances.

First Cop looks directly at Joe, and Joe feels the familiar sensation of desire curling low in his belly, hot - almost _scalding_ in its intensity - as deep, mahogany-brown eyes bore into Joe’s own. A radiant smile, bright as the Sun, is aimed right at Joe around a pair of beautifully plump lips that Joe would _kill_ to see stretched wide and tight around a gag or, better yet, around his c-

“-sounded like shouting, so we came in to make sure everything was alright,” those lips are explaining as one arm raises to run a slender-fingered hand over slicked-back, jet-black hair, thicker at the top and buzzed at the sides. He apologizes, “Sorry we didn’t get to him before he threw the mug through the glass in your door,” and offers a sheepish half-smile.

(Joe wants to _taste_ that smile, warp it into an open-mouthed _scream_.)

“No worries.” Joe’s own lips quirk up at the corners, his voice much lower now. He feels the other cop - _Officer C. Alexander_ \- and Becky staring at him. First Cop looks relieved, like a puppy that had thought it was going to be admonished, only to be petted instead; Joe is goddamn _charmed_.

The doors open, two _new_ cops strutting into Joe’s domain; the air in the bar grows a little more tense (Joe expects no less; a good portion of these people have probably been arrested by at least _one_ of them, odds are high), but only First Cop’s partner seems to take notice, his dark eyes surveying the room with that signature cop gaze.

“You two really arrested someone ten minutes after the end of your shift and called us to clean up your handiwork? Jerks.” There’s a put-upon sigh, but when Joe finally tears his gaze away from the return of the other cop’s grin, he sees that the woman who said it is smiling. “Where’s your car even at?”

First Cop (Joe subtly attempts to read his name pin, but the drunken bastard who’d attracted all this goddamn attention in the first place - and is currently listing side-to-side, belligerence obviously gone now after being tossed to the floor, like he fucking _deserved_ for breaking Joe’s goddamn glass - is blocking it) chuckles, saying, “Cedric wanted to eat at that pancake place down the street; I told him we’d have to work it all off, so we parked and started walking. We heard this guy yelling,” he nods at his captive, “and now here we are.”

“We’ll head back and do up the paperwork, Dana; we just didn’t wanna chance anything by walkin’ him back to the car is all.”

Joe can see Viktor and Konnor, two of his regulars from the very beginning, having a silent conversation, their eyes flicking to each cop in turn. Viktor’s eyes catch Joe’s on their pass to the attractive cop, and Joe once again shakes his head, short and firm; the two men scowl, but do nothing.

The cuffed man gets handed off to the woman’s partner, a tall, bald, black man. “Y’all better not skip out on us, Cedric,” he warns in a booming voice, grinning and pointing at each of them, before he and the woman leave, the man between them.

“Alright,” _Cedric_ says, turning to his partner. “See what you got us into?” He shakes his head, more than a little fondly, when the other simply laughs. “Asshole. I’ll get the report here done; _you_ can deal with the guy when we get back to the station.”

“Deal.”

“We’ll help with that!” Becky interjects, heading off Officer Alexander when he moves toward Joe. “Boss was in back through the entire thing, but we were here for it all, weren’t we, Paige?”

“Absolutely.” One pale arm links with the officer’s dark one, a startling contrast, and leads him back toward the store room. “We’ll just head in here,” she tells him, Becky nodding in agreement as she follows them. “It’s much quieter.”

“Exactly,” says the redhead. “More _privacy_.” She winks obnoxiously at Joe, who raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

As the door to the storage room closes, Joe’s eyes finally fall upon the shiny pin on First Cop’s chest: _Officer M. Ali._

“I really am sorry about your door, sir.”

There’s a sudden, painful stab of pure _lust_ through Joe; _god_ , this kid (he can’t be any older than twenty-five or so to Joe’s _thirty-nine_ , good _Christ_ ), the way he says _sir,_ the way he apologizes so _sincerely_ -

(Joe wants him under him and whining; on his knees in front of him, pleading; on top of him, hips rolling, neck red with Joe’s marks, begging _Daddy, please_ -)

“I’m Officer Ali,” the other man says. “Mustafa Ali.”

“Mustafa,” Joe repeats, low and smooth, and has the pleasure of seeing the already dark eyes darken just a little further. “I’m Joe.”

 _Yeah,_ Joe thinks. _I can work with this._

The low hum of actual conversation is back in the bar, though a few eyes still cut to the lone officer, so Joe turns and gestures to the booth he usually chooses for himself when he’s out here. (From his seat, he has the advantage of seeing everyone and everything; on the side he deliberately seats others, the only things visible are the wall behind Joe and the people at the bar, to the side, unless the person twists around into an uncomfortable contortion - not something Joe would object to with this one, if he’s honest.) He urges Mustafa into his seat, then moves behind the bar, snagging two chilled bottles of water and heading back toward the other man, sliding smoothly into the booth and offering the water, keeping full-hold around the middle of the bottle and deliberately, experimentally, letting their fingers brush before he draws back, watching the way full lips part, just the tiniest fraction, and beautiful eyes dart up to his face.

“Your, um- You can come to the station in a couple of days to get a copy of the report for your insurance. Cedric will have your employees’ accounts of the circumstances and both of ours.” The cop twists off the top of the bottle and takes a small sip of the water, smiling in thanks at Joe.

Joe has no intentions of going through his insurance for a broken pane, but- “They may need to speak to the primary officer involved in the incident,” Joe says slowly, eyes on the smooth motions of Mustafa’s throat as he takes another drink. (The L.A.P.D. badge, just a few inches away, is a glaring beacon of _don’t do this;_ Joe easily ignores it when long fingers stroke down the side of the water bottle as the officer returns it upright on the table.)

“I’m not sure they’ll have to,” Officer Ali replies, a little dent forming between his eyebrows. He leans back against the seat and removes a card from one of his vest pockets, sliding it over to Joe. _Officer Mustafa Ali, Los Angeles Police Department_ is the heading, followed by his station’s address and phone number, as well as an extension to his direct line. “They’ll be able to reach me at the station, though, if they need.”

Joe hums. “You don’t seem to always work the normal daytime hours, though,” he points out, nodding his head at the dimly lit street outside. A crooked grin tugs his lips. “I may need to ask a question or two about the report, as well.”

Something seems to click under those long eyelashes, behind the brown eyes as they widen a fraction. “Oh.” He ducks his head a bit, lips quirking, cheeks a little darker.

(Joe is _dying_ to see if that blush spreads anywhere else - and what he can do to  _cause_ it.)

Finally, the other man looks up again, and there’s a confident smile where a shy one was a moment ago. Joe _likes_ that. Another search of his pocket produces a pen, and he snags the card he’d slid onto the table, quickly writing another number on the back of it and pushing it back to Joe. Joe says, “You should have mine, too,” voice low and deep (the voice that’s guaranteed to grab attention; Tyler calls it his _Daddy voice_ ). “So you’ll know who’s calling.” He grabs a napkin and reaches out, fingers brushing again over Mustafa’s as he steals the pen away.

He’s just finished the last digit, handing the pen and napkin over to a smiling Mustafa, when Paige’s laugh sounds out, the door to the storeroom opening and shutting as the three who’d entered return to the main bar. _Officer Alexander’s_ dark eyes narrow in suspicion at Joe, whose hackles immediately rise; he offers a sarcastic grin.

“I’ve got everything,” Cedric tells Mustafa, gaze still on Joe. “Let’s head back before Titus starts texting me about loyalty or something.”

“Yeah, alright,” laughs Mustafa. He smiles again at Joe and they bid goodbye to Paige and Becky, just behind Cedric, Cedric’s eyes remaining on Joe until they turn and walk away, leaving the bar. The atmosphere of the room shifts dramatically, relaxing the moment the two are out of sight.

“Well,” Becky says brightly, sliding onto the bench next to Joe, intentionally invading his space. “He was cute.”

Paige sits across from them. “They both were.”

“Boss man couldn’t keep his eyes off of only _one_ of them, though.”

Joe huffs. “Don’t you two have work to do?”

“Sure,” says Paige, unconcerned. “Did you at least get his number? We didn’t distract his partner for _nothing,_ did we?”

Becky’s hand strikes out for the card in front of Joe, but Joe is too quick for her, forcing her wrist to the table, glaring at Paige when she reaches over. “Get back to work.” His tone is firm, but there’s amusement there, too.

Two pairs of eyes roll, but both women move from the booth, Becky going behind the bar, Paige flitting between tables and gathering empty bottles and glasses.

Joe picks up the card, flipping it over to stare at the name.

 _A cop,_ Joe thinks to himself.

_Should be fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome aboard the OTP Joestafa.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Joe bangs the hell out of Balor

“Hi, girls.” Finn smiles at Paige behind the bar, who smiles back, and at Becky sweeping the floor, who merely jerks her chin. “I hear your boss is back.”

“Like a bad penny,” Paige confirms. She leans on the counter, showing off her snow-white cleavage. “And who’s this behind ya?”

“This is Seth.” Finn reaches behind him to clasp Seth’s hand. They’ve had a quiet day in, Seth tucked against Finn while they watched mindless sitcoms, and Finn feels far too restless under his skin to see anyone for a session today. Having given Joe the better part of the day to sleep off his jet lag, the Irishman finally caves to his impulses. “Seth, this is Paige. The grouch with the broom is Becky.”

Becky raises a middle finger in greeting. Coming out from behind the counter, Paige slaps it down, saying, “Come on, look at him. Bet he’s gonna be a smartass like you.”

The redhead rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth quirks up. “Boss man is in the kitchen.”

Finn squeezes Seth’s hand and leads him through the bar. There are no customers yet but Becky and Paige come in for what Joe calls ‘family dinner’ before they open for the night.

Paige calls out, “Ask him about the cop!”

 _The cop?_ Finn’s confused. Joe avoids law enforcement. Has he killed a policeman or something? He and Seth enter the tiny excuse for a kitchen (made even tinier by Joe’s bulk), where he’s chopping up some onions. When he sees them, he tosses the onions into a large pot and goes to wash his hands.

“Do you even have tear ducts?” Finn asks, offended that Joe isn’t even red-eyed.

Joe’s mouth twitches. “Probably not.” He raises an eyebrow at Seth, who is clinging to Finn like he is a lifeline. “Glad to see you, kid.”

“Hi Mr Joe.”

“Told you to call me Joe. Finn, get the fuck out of my kitchen before you set off the smoke alarm. Seth, can you cook?”

Seth only has time to nod before he’s pressed into service. Finn winks at his panicked look and goes to the front, where Paige is muttering angrily at the register. Becky makes him help with hauling in a crate of beer from the storeroom.

Time in the kitchen helping Joe does Seth some good. He’s smiling at the others, though still reticent, and Joe makes sure the young man gets plenty of the stir-fried chicken. The girls tease Joe about a cop that was here last night (“Stay out of it,” Joe tells them) and Finn knows that Joe’s found himself a target.

The girls and Seth help clear the dishes. Any other night, Finn would be in the back washing up, but all the convivial talk has only ramped up the itch to maul and hurt.

Joe sips his beer. “You need the top floor?” He’s always been the more perceptive one in their partnership.

“Yes,” Finn admits. He clenches and unclenches his fists. “Seth... He read up on consent last night.”

“How badly you want to hurt Hunter?”

“I’d burn him to the ground and salt his remains,” Finn grits out. “Go bhféadfaidh an diabhal dóiteán a ullmhú dó.”

Joe finishes his drink and nods for Finn to finish his. “You should stay overnight. Will he be okay with that?”

“I’ll ask. But damn it, Joe, I am giving serious consideration to hiring you for the job.”

The big man snorts. “Not that I wouldn’t take it, but give it a couple of years. Seth’s too close to this right now.”

***

Joe sees Seth's uncertainty when Finn informs him about going upstairs with Joe. Idiot Irishman. Anyone with one eye and half a brain can tell that Finn's already gone for this one, the way he holds Seth's hand and touches his cheek, the way his tone drops to the gentlest of whispers. Fucking kid gloves for someone who's survived terrible things; it's demeaning to the kid. Once Finn is done talking, he pulls Seth over to his employees.

“Paige, Becks, I'm gonna be busy with Finn. Top floor business,” he warns before they can start cracking jokes. “You're gonna be short a man down here, so put Seth to work.”

Paige takes Seth by the elbow. “Alright, champ, you're on tables with me.”

“Don't call me that,” Seth snaps, and then his face goes white. “Sorry. But... Yeah. Just avoid that word, please.”

Paige glances at Finn and Joe, then nods. “Sure thing. Sorry, kid.”

Once the two are at the counter, Becky whispers, “What’s the deal?”

“Bad men,” Finn replies flatly.

Becky's eyes narrow. “Gotcha. We'll watch over him. You two go get whatever you need out of your system.”

As if he needs her permission. Joe leads the way up to the top floor, Finn his silent shadow. The top floor is an open space, the floor covered with thick gym mats and two padded walls. The third wall is where supplies are stored behind mirrored panels, and the far wall has bulletproof windows. Joe closes all the curtains and turns on the overhead light. After locking the door, Finn sheds his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. He leaves his shoes by the door. Joe shucks off his shirt and folds it neatly, and slips out of his own shoes. “You’re going to lose that shirt.”

“Do your worst.” With a roll of his shoulders and a graceful drop into a crouch, Finn's entire demeanor changes. His blue eyes darken as he studies Joe, who begins to circle him.

Joe smirks. “I never quite understood how you compartmentalize so _neatly_ , Balor.”

It's their thing, the use of “Balor” instead of “Finn” a signal from Joe that he is going to treat this as a real fight, so neither has to hold back. No safewords, nothing off-limits. More than once, when they were both just getting to know each other, Joe had to nearly kill the younger man to get him to yield. This is playing with _teeth_. Finn Balor is a man of many faces, but Balor is the one which can match Joe for ferocity and viciousness. Joe likes Balor.

Balor doesn’t smile or speak. His eyes track Joe’s movements, shifting and turning on the spot, his entire stance low to the ground. Joe still doesn’t know where Balor learned his moves from, despite having sparred with him more than a dozen times.

Perhaps sensing his distraction, Balor charges, colliding straight into Joe’s belly and nearly knocking him off his feet. Joe catches him, however, stepping forward and throwing Balor over his hip, a picture perfect _harai goshi_. The move drives air out of Balor with a grunt, but the crafty asshole flips over onto his knees and hooks Joe’s ankle with his free hand. Joe lands, hard. Before he can sit up, Balor leaps on him, a right cross catching Joe across the cheek, almost splitting skin.

 _Fuck. I’m gonna feel that for a few days._ Joe blocks the next few punches, then reaches up to grab the shirt collar with both hands to headbutt Balor. It dazes them both, Balor a little worse off than Joe. Joe tries for a cross choke, but the Irishman fights free of the hold and slams the side of his forearm on Joe’s elbow. The big man growls and rolls, trying to pin Balor down, but Balor slithers out of his grip, clipping Joe on the side of his jaw with his knee as he escapes. The sharp impact pulls another deep growl from Joe - he’s bitten into the inside of his cheek and he can taste his blood. It’s a heady rush, and he wants Balor to _pay_. Balor is crouched about half a step away, breathing heavily; his hooded eyes are cold.

Joe’s the one to attack this time, and he’s _fast_ , always faster than what most people think a big man can be; even Balor can’t avoid him. Joe grabs him around his waist, twists, and throws him into the mat with a loud thump. Balor snarls and tries to _bite_ , the little bastard, and Joe grabs him by the throat to force him down and hold him still. “Yield?” he asks, squeezing lightly.

Balor grins, fierce and bright. “Fuck you.”

With a short laugh, Joe drags Balor up and into a _hadaka-jime_ , his favorite choke hold. With his arm over Balor’s throat and his hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, Joe can easily kill him. He just has to tighten his hold. Balor struggles and claws at Joe’s meaty forearm, grunting as he tries to breathe in. Joe hisses when the smaller man scratches too hard and breaks skin. Balor tries to stand to loosen Joe’s grip, but Joe just hooks his thick legs around Balor, the both of them falling onto the mat onto their sides.

“Troublesome Irish bastard,” Joe mutters. He rolls and changes the hold again, grabbing Balor’s dominant hand and twisting the arm up behind him. Balor bucks his hips and kicks, but he can’t shake Joe, and the big man decides to make sure Balor knows he’s beaten by shifting his weight on top, and his other arm goes back around Balor’s neck. Balor can’t move at all. Joe asks again, his voice deeper than before, “Yield?”

Joe tightens his grip when Balor merely bares his teeth, presses more of his weight down on Balor’s back, the other’s arm still caught between them, Joe’s front and the small of Balor’s back, in an undoubtedly painful way. “Give. _Up.”_ Balor snarls at him, struggling harder; he isn’t able to gain enough leverage, though, his movements sluggish. The younger man’s free hand claws at Joe’s forearm, but there’s no strength behind it. Slowly, Balor’s body begins to go limp; Joe releases his hold before he passes out completely, lifts up just enough to move Balor’s arm from between their bodies, a soft grunt and quick pants escaping the man below him. This is always how it goes between them: a hard fight until Balor gives in, then a hard _fuck._

Balor spits out a curse, breathless, and Joe chuckles. “Always a fight.” He moves his right hand to the back of Balor’s neck, holding firmly, keeping him in place as he reaches beneath the Irishman, yanking at the front of the button-up, tiny sounds and fabric giving way telling Joe he’s torn the buttons away. “I told you you’d lose the shirt,” he says into Balor’s ear, nipping the flesh harshly. Balor responds with a sudden jerk of his head, trying to catch Joe, but Joe is prepared for it, always fast, moving out of range, pressing firmly on Balor’s nape. He pulls harder at the shirt, one pale shoulder revealed, a toned bicep; he drags it further down, letting it catch at his wrist. Switching hands, left holding Balor’s neck, Joe does the same to the other arm and twists the fabric of the shirt tightly, effectively trapping the smaller man’s hands.

With his hands bound behind him, Balor has no way to hide the marks Joe’s left on his body. Not many, not _enough_ ; Joe wants to make Balor - to make _Finn_ \- remember who between them is still superior. First things first: those pants will have to go. Of course the asshole has to show up in something designer, but that’s his problem. Balor’s staring at him in lust or fury, probably both, and Joe’s answering smirk mirrors the same sentiments. It doesn’t take much to rip the pants off, although Joe has to avoid Balor’s snapping teeth and kicking feet, and in retaliation, Joe rolls him once more onto his front. The good thing is that Balor isn’t wearing underwear. Less trouble for Joe, at least.

“Did you prep yourself before you got here or were you intending for me to do all the work, as usual?” Joe strips with his usual efficiency. Balor glares over his shoulder at him, refusing to answer, drawing a laugh from Joe. “It’s that way, is it?” He folds his own pants as neatly as he’d folded his shirt, placing them on top of it, walking back over to Balor. Balor’s remained on his front the entire time, behaving - it makes Joe suspicious; he kneels down and threads his fingers through Balor’s short hair. His grip is firm, and Balor’s eyes flutter when Joe tightens his hold. “Answer me.”

“If you’d get a move on,” snarls Balor - it’s weak, considering his eyes are half-lidded, his voice breathy. “You’d know.”

Joe huffs in amusement and shoves two fingers into Balor’s mouth. There’s a chance Balor will bite, but they’re both keyed up for something other than violence now, and Joe knows how much the younger man enjoys being used like this, whether as Balor or as Finn. Balor takes the two fingers in his mouth and sucks, hard, wiggling his tongue between the digits and around them, his gaze never wavering from Joe’s face until Joe removes his hand. The big man settles into place behind Balor and presses his fingers in slowly, both at once, knowing that the Irishman craves the sting and stretch right now. Balor hisses, and then it’s as if all the tension in his spine melts and he spreads his legs a little more in wordless invitation.

“I’ll never understand why you always fight it so hard when it always ends like this.” Joe settles his free hand on the small of Balor’s back, nails digging in, hard enough elicit a hiss from the other man. “You always end up begging.” He feels Balor push back onto his fingers and lands a heavy handed slap on one cheek, a pink splotch blooming brightly over pale flesh.

Balor snarls, but he is still trying to take more of Joe in. He throws his head back as Joe scissors his thick fingers, and stifles a whine when Joe stops and slides his fingers out. The big man grins. “What, impatient already?” Joe can feel his own pulse throbbing in his cock, but he strolls leisurely to retrieve lube and condoms from the mirrored cabinet.

Balor’s twisting his wrists, seemingly trying to loosen the knot of the shirt trapping them, when Joe moves back toward him, supplies in hand. Joe clicks his tongue. “You were behaving so well - I knew it wouldn’t last, though.” He settles back on the floor, lube and condoms placed beside Balor’s hip. Joe grasps Balor’s elbow, jerking his arm up, enough to force out a pained grunt from him, careful not to put too much force behind his movement. “Settle down,” he commands, and Balor’s lips pull back, Joe can see, teeth bared, but the man ceases his struggling, arm relaxing in Joe’s grip. In reward, Joe smooths his hand down the length of Balor’s spine, to his wrists trapped at his lower back; there’s a sound like a _purr_ that comes from Balor.

Joe grabs one of the condoms, opening it in a smooth and practiced motion, rolling it quickly down his erection, hissing at his own touch. He pops the lube open, squeezing out a bit into his palm before closing it, placing it back beside Balor’s hip, immediately gripping himself and spreading the slickness, a shudder travelling down his spine. Tapping Balor’s hip, Joe tells him, “Up.”

A sort of _growl_ is Balor’s only vocal response, his thighs spreading further apart, knees finding enough purchase beneath him to prop himself up. Joe runs his still-slick hand over the backs of strong thighs, caresses the soft inner thighs, spreading lube there as well. Joe muses, “I could just fuck you this way - fuck your thighs and leave you here when I’m finished with you.” Joe would never leave him to deal with any possible fallout alone, which Finn knows, but it sends Balor into a fury, another snarl breaking from his throat, his right foot kicking back at Joe, who catches it easily, tugging his leg back and putting Balor off-balance for a moment before he releases it. “Are you finished with your little temper tantrum now?” he asks, another _smack_ echoing through the room, his palm stinging with the blow this time.

Balor exhales heavily, glaring daggers over his shoulder. “Fuck me already,” he demands. There is a thin sheen of perspiration over his skin, and his blue eyes are practically black. “Fucking put that cock in me, or I swear-”

 _“What?”_ Joe interrupts, voice dangerously low. _“What_ do you think you’ll do?”

Balor grits his teeth. A vein is throbbing at his temple and his nostrils are flaring. Joe slides his hand up Balor’s inner thigh and presses a thumb against his entrance, then raises an eyebrow. “What,” he repeats, “do you think you’ll do?”

It’s inevitable. Balor holds out, refusing to move or to look away, and Joe just waits, but there is no way the Irishman can win in a battle of wills, not in this scenario. Finally, with all the suppressed fury of a thousand volcanoes ready to blow, Balor hisses, “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please _fuck me_ , you fucking asshole.”

Joe chuckles, grating on Balor’s nerves. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Balor’s teeth are bared again, but Joe takes action before any words can be spat out, pressing his thumb into Balor, quickly, without warning. The Irishman _whines,_ tries to press himself back, but Joe removes the digit just as suddenly and settles on his knees behind Balor, using them to force the other’s knees wider. Stroking his cock, spreading the excess lube over himself, Joe shifts, and the thick head sinks easily into Balor, both of them groaning loudly, Balor’s ending with another whine.

Balor is tight, with the minimal prep, and he sounds like he’s dying for it as Joe moves. Joe’s grip on Balor’s hips will leave bruises; he’s darkly pleased about it, since no one gets to leave marks on him like this. Balor is meeting Joe’s rough thrusts, the curve of his back undulating as he works his hips and thighs, harsh gasps escaping him every time Joe shoves deep into him. Sweat beads over the back of his shoulders, along the line of his spine, and Joe can feel his own body slick with perspiration. Tension coils low in his groin and he hauls Balor upright so he’s sitting on Joe’s cock. Balor finds his balance, his feet braced on the mat, and he throws his head back to try to bite Joe’s ear or cheek, whatever he can reach.

Joe grunts and pushes three fingers into Balor’s mouth, wrenching his jaw open. Balor’s hips are still working and his abs ripple with the up-and-down motion, his erection bobbing obscenely as he rides Joe’s cock. Joe grasps Balor’s dick and rubs the precome all over the glistening head and down the shaft. “Fuck my hand,” Joe orders. “Get yourself off, Balor, this is all the help you’re getting.”

Unable to respond verbally, Balor speeds up, his breathing becoming heavier and more labored. Joe presses his mouth on the back of Finn’s neck and into the crook of his shoulder, letting the tight heat envelope him again and again. He can feel orgasm building, the base of his spine tingling, and Joe adds, “If I come before you, that’s it; we stop, and you leave this room with nothing.” He feels Balor attempt to scratch him, his fingers curled loosely between them, still bound at Balor’s lower back, and hums a warning.

Balor growls in his throat, but the effect is lost amid his harsh panting and Joe's fingers. He moves faster instead, practically bouncing on Joe's cock. His erection gets slicker and Joe tightens his grip, and his other hand leaves Balor's hot, wet mouth; he curls that hand loosely around Balor's throat, feeling the Irishman gulp and swallow beneath his palm. He squeezes and releases, a reminder that he can snap Balor's neck this very second.

Finally, _finally_ Balor tenses, fully seated on Joe's cock, and a raw, primal scream tears its way from his throat. Joe grimaces with satisfaction, wrenching the younger man's head back and sucking on the delectable muscle between neck and shoulder, teasing teeth, and Balor clenches down _hard_ , a second cry echoing in the space as he comes, spilling all over Joe's fist. Joe lets go of his neck and rolls them so Balor is under him. He grips slim hips and pounds into Balor, driving all the air out of the other man with every thrust, until the coiled tension in his gut snaps and he comes with a shout.

***

“You were going easy on me,” Finn accuses after he walks out of the shower in Joe's bedroom. He's sore, in a very good way, and there will be handprints where Joe gripped him, but a decided lack of scratches and cuts.

“Still beat your ass.” Joe tosses him a clean towel. “Besides, I don't want to scare the kid with you bloody and bruised.”

Finn collapses on the bed, sputtering when Joe throws a damp towel on his face. “What am I going to _do_ about Seth?”

“You like him.” Joe pulls on the jeans and shirt from earlier. “Told him yet?”

“He’s literally just had a breakdown-”

“Answer my fucking question.”

Finn sighs and throws his forearm over his eyes. “No. But I can’t put this on him, Joe. Not when he’s still reeling.”

He feels a dip in the mattress, and then Joe’s familiar bulk settles over him. When he moves his arm, Joe is staring down at him, serious and almost fond. “You’re an idiot,” he tells Finn. “I shudder to think what’ll become of you without me around. Tell him what you feel, for cryin’ out loud, and stop with this melodramatic Irish bullshit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go bhféadfaidh an diabhal dóiteán a ullmhú dó: (I think?) That the devil may burn him


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Seth isn't jealous, Finn is somewhat concerned, and Joe gives great advice.

Joe and Finn return to the bar, both with damp hair and a satisfied air about them, Finn in different - similar, but different - clothing. Seth can’t help but glance over at them, nearly fumbling the chair he’s removing from the tabletop; he and Paige have been preparing the main floor for the night while Becky readies the bar, slicing garnishes and refilling the ice bin.

“Hey, baby boy.” Paige snaps her fingers in front of his face, making him blink and take a step back, chair still in hand. She raises one dark eyebrow at him.

“Sorry,” apologizes Seth and places the chair on the floor, pushing it in and grabbing another.

Paige’s eyes flick to where Joe and Finn have disappeared into the storeroom, working together with the ease of long-time friends to help Becky restock the liquor and bring out a few more cases of beer. She clicks her tongue. “Don’t be jealous about _that,”_ she tells Seth, white teeth flashing as she laughs, a sultry sound that no doubt has men and women alike flocking to her, vying for her attention.

Eyes widening, Seth denies, “I’m- It’s not like that.” Something in him aches at the admission, which only manages to confuse him. “I just-” He places the second chair down and gestures vaguely. “Wondered if they were- are-?”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, making him startle, heart racing. “Whatcha wonderin’?” Becky releases his shoulder and moves to help him and Paige with the rest of the chairs, apparently finished with her own duties - or leaving them to Joe and Finn, who are now behind the bar, wiping down the countertop and bickering with each other.

“Baby boy’s wondering about those two.” Paige nods her head toward the older men.

Becky scoffs, rolling her eyes. _“Those two,”_ she says, “are dopes.”

Seth cracks a small smile, but shakes his head. “I wasn’t really- It’s just that they seem to be really comfortable with each other, and Mr. Joe called Finn to come help the night he…” The two women glance at each other, then at him as he trails off. Seth’s mouth is a little dry at the memory, the fear he’d felt that entire night, as soon as Hunter had handed his leash to Mr. Joe - _Joe,_ he corrects himself. He clears his throat, swallows hard, and continues, “I just was wondering if they were - are - together?”

Paige and Becky share another _look,_ this one amused where the previous seemed concerned. “Definitely _not,”_ Paige tells him, lips spreading in a sort of _knowing_ smile. “They can hardly stand to be near each other without arguing about one thing or another, unless it concerns business.” Becky nods in agreement, a snorting sort of laugh escaping her. “Their personalities don’t mesh together.” Paige's smile becomes more amused now. “Boss has his eye on a cute cop, anyway.”

“Looks _way_ too innocent for the boss man, but,” Becky shrugs, “s’pose we’ll see,” she adds, as if it’s a foregone conclusion that the big man will achieve whatever goal he has in mind. She grins, crooked and sly, at him. “Why you _really_ wanna know about Finn and the boss?” she questions, brown eyes dancing teasingly.

Seth _knows_ he’s blushing and refuses to answer. Becky chortles and goes on to get another table ready, while Paige only pets him on the arm before grabbing the spray bottle and rag for the glass. He can’t stop stealing glances at Finn and Joe. He’s not exactly _jealous_ of their easy intimacy. He wants to be part of it, however, to be allowed to bask in that warmth and closeness. Finn elbows Joe for being in the way, and Joe grabs Finn’s ass as he passes, smirking when his hand is slapped away. They have a history, that much is obvious.

Perhaps he’s been staring too long. Both of them turn at the same time to look at Seth. Joe snorts with amusement and whispers something to Finn, who just rolls his eyes and slips out from behind the bar.

“Do you want to go home?” Finn asks when he gets to Seth.

Seth looks down at where Finn is holding his hand. It’s become a source of comfort to Seth, to have the heat of the Irishman’s palm in his own. “Aren’t you coming home with me?” he asks Finn.

Finn licks his lower lip and Seth feels a little hot under the collar. He also notices faint reddish marks all over the other man’s throat. _What has he been doing with Joe?_ As if aware of Seth’s line of thought, Finn rubs the side of his neck. “I’m going to stay over tonight,” he admits. “But I also don’t want you to be alone in the penthouse if you're not up to it. Joe’s okay with you sleeping here tonight if you want.”

“I want to,” Seth says quickly. Too quickly, and too loudly, judging by the amused twitch of Finn’s eyebrows. “I won’t... I mean, I won’t intrude, I can sleep in the spare room or, um, in the living room, it doesn’t matter. I’d like to stay over too.”

Finn smiles and squeezes Seth’s fingers. “That’s sorted then.”

While Joe certainly doesn’t need extra help, he tells Finn and Seth to earn their keep. Paige drapes her arm over Seth’s shoulders and pulls him close. “If anyone gets handsy, feel free to break their fingers,” she tells him seriously. “But if you don’t want to handle it yourself, just let me or Becky know which asshole it is.”

“I think I can handle myself,” Seth says, but he smiles at her anyway. It’s a nice sort of simplicity to the job assigned him: clearing tables and wiping them down. Paige is holding court at the bar, her throaty laugh ringing out every now and again, while Becky serves drinks and demands better tips from some of the regulars with cheeky swagger. Joe retires to the kitchen as soon as the bar begins filling up, while Finn takes over the cash register. (He spends most of the time texting.)

Sometime around midnight, Bayley walks in with a slim, dark woman with purple hair and a leather dress. The contrast between them is startling. Becky calls out a cheerful greeting to the latter (“Look at you, you boss bitch! You look great!”) and Paige draws two pints of beer without waiting for an order.

Finn grins, bright as the sun, and takes Seth by the elbow. “Come on, let’s meet Sasha. She’s been raving over your cookies ever since you first gave me a batch to share.”

Seth knows Sasha is the domme in the Playroom, the first and only other person Finn has working in his new place. He hasn’t expected her to be this _tiny_ though. She’s small, but she carries herself with confidence bordering on arrogance, and two guys at the bar leave to give her and Bayley the seats.

When they approach the bar, Sasha looks him over with a cool smile. “Who’s this?”

“This is Seth Rollins, the provider of deliciousness,” Finn answers.

Sasha’s demeanor changes entirely. “Oh my god, you’re the Seth who’s been baking the triple chocolate cookies? The Seth Bayley’s talked about? Has Finn told you how I want to marry your baking? Because I want to marry your baking, it’s _so good._ ”

“Um, thanks?”

Laughing, Bayley hops off her stool and hugs Finn and Seth at the same time. “You look good,” she tells Seth sincerely. “Those dark undereye circles are gone, at least.” She winks at Finn, and Seth _knows_ that she’s misunderstood the situation entirely, but he can’t figure out how to tell her that.

Finn doesn’t correct her either. Instead, he places a hand on the small of Seth’s back. “Seth’s been taking care of me really well, too,” he tells them, and pats his flat belly. “I think I’ve put on weight. All that good cooking.”

Sasha rolls her eyes. “I know you still have infinite abs, you freak of nature. Seth, if this one ever breaks your heart, let me know. I’ll kick his ass for you, and you can bake me cookies in gratitude.”

“Count me in,” Becky says. “Always looking to slap some dopes.”

“I-I don’t think that’s necessary,” Seth says.

“Awww that’s so sweet,” Bayley interjects. She loops her arm through Sasha’s right and rests her cheek on the latter’s shoulder. “Finn must be spoiling you silly. You two look cute together.”

Finn chuckles and shakes his head. “Cut it out. Sasha, no more sessions tonight?”

“You took the night off, so I figured I would too.” Sasha reaches out and tilts Finn’s chin up, turning his face left and right. “Ah. Playing rough, I see. Joe’s work?”

Not willing to listen to Finn talk about sex with Joe, Seth excuses himself and goes back to his task. Becky catches him at the kitchen sink. Joe’s retreated into his office, so the two of them are alone.

“Do you like Finn?” she demands.

Seth flushes. “Yes, of course. As, as a friend.”

“Sure.” Becky narrows her eyes in suspicion. “Listen, baby boy, I know Finn a bit better ‘n you, and he’s an idiot. He’s gonna wait until you indicate one way or the other how you feel, so if you want some of that Irish goodness, you better show him.”

He gulps. He doesn’t know if he wants to. What if Finn rejects him? Why would Finn want anyone who’s been used and discarded like so much trash?

Something about his face must convey his apprehension. Becky rolls her eyes and says in a low tone, “If this is about something that happened in the past, remember what he’s done to get you here. He’s not going away from your life, Seth, not unless you want him to.”

***

Seth is all smiles throughout most of the night, engaging in conversation with Joe’s customers as he clears away their empty glasses and bottles or returns with new ones at Paige’s command. (Finn keeps a careful eye on the ones who interact with the younger man - as, he notices, do Paige and Becky; the bar’s regulars are generally decent at handling their liquor, but there’s always a handful of unknowns scattered about, strangers who stumble upon the bar, unaware of its reputation and looking for trouble.) He’s polite, even _friendly,_ and he looks-

He looks _happy._

At least, until he’s left alone, waiting on drinks from Becky behind the bar or wiping down a newly-abandoned table. Seth doesn’t look _unhappy_ in these moments, not really - pensive, perhaps, the familiar little dent between his eyebrows forming, pretty eyes glancing quickly at Finn, then to Becky, and back to whatever he’s doing. It all makes Finn curious - enough to snag Becky’s upper arm as she prepares to move away once she passes off a card and a name to open a tab. “What’ve you done?” he asks her, nodding toward Seth.

Becky scoffs. “I’ve not done anything,” she tells him, but her eyes dart over to Seth again and Finn _knows_ she’s lying.

“Said, then,” he amends. “What’ve you said to him?”

Her gaze returns to Finn, defiant in the way it’s always been, one Irish attitude to another, though she rarely ever challenges him. (Everyone else? _Certainly_ \- including Joe - but rarely Finn.) This time is no different; her eyes slide to the side, and she exhales heavily through her nose. “I only told him that you aren’t goin’ anywhere, as long as he wants you around.”

She refuses to make eye contact with him, so Finn is positive there was a bit more to their conversation than something as simple as what Finn himself has already stressed to Seth, but he releases her arm anyway. He tells her, quietly, “Don’t push him into anything, whatever you were trying to do with that.” His eyes flick to Seth and back to Becky. “He’s had more than enough people pushing him into things, over the years. I don’t want it added to.” Finn turns back to the cash register, not wanting to say any more on the topic and divulge things Seth may not want said aloud - but he still catches a glimpse of a faintly guilty look crossing Becky’s face.

***

The night is long and filled with good humor, drunken laughter, and only one start-stop fight between Sheamus (another Irishman, paler even than Finn, and with a shock of a naturally red mohawk down the center of his head, spiked a good few inches with Christ knows how much product) and a relatively new regular, Curt, that began with an accidental jab of a cane Curt always seems to carry around, for no particular reason, and ended with Cesaro playing peacemaker and persuading Curt to buy his partner-in-crime a drink as an apology.

All-in-all: a quiet night.

Joe shoves everyone out after last-call, sighing at the rowdiness of Liv (a small, pink-haired woman with big blue eyes, full of chaotic energy) and Sarah (a solidly-built woman who seems to allow only Liv leeway, always letting her hop on her back and hang on for the ride); Ruby (the “leader” of their little group, tattooed and commanding) follows them out, the shots she’s had not seeming to bother her at all, nodding at Joe as they exit.

Everyone is put to work, same as before, with Seth helping Paige clear tables of remaining glasses and wipe them down before they put up the chairs, Becky clearing up the bar, and Finn going over the night’s take while Joe takes his inventory. It’s all an easy sort of camaraderie, each working well with and around the others, and it all moves along smoothly enough that, within the hour, Paige and Becky are heading out the door. Joe locks up behind them, pulling down the gates for the doors and windows, locking them into place, while Finn and Seth wait for him in his office.

Seth has remained at arm’s length from Finn all night (Finn has been cursing Becky in the back of his mind), and Finn wants to stop it, so he offers his hand between them - halfway, so that Seth has the choice to refuse it or take it; he feels an immense pleasure when Seth gives him a shy glance, a soft smile on his lips as he accepts Finn’s hand, a heavy weight lifting from Finn’s shoulders as Seth allows him to tangle their fingers together, their palms warm against each other.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks, running his thumb slowly along the side of Seth’s own.

Those lovely doe eyes fly up to Finn’s blue. “Yes,” he says, tilting his head (it reminds Finn of a curious puppy). “Yeah, I’m- Everything is good.”

He doesn’t seem upset, so Finn doesn’t press the issue. He says, “Good,” with a gentle smile and lifts their joined hands to brush a soft kiss over Seth’s knuckles, enjoying the way Seth’s cheeks redden just slightly.

The office door opens and shuts, Joe slipping in, lifting a brow at Finn as he catches sight of their hands; he says nothing, though, only turns to lock the office door as well (all three of the locks Joe had personally installed and the normal lock), then goes to repeat the same process for the side door, the only other way into the building, that opens to a small hallway beside Joe’s office and leads to the stairs up to Joe’s apartment floor and the rest of the building. “Let’s go,” he grunts at them and allows them to go first (a habit more than politeness, really, Finn knows; men like Joe never let anyone at their backs, if they can help it). Joe unlocks the apartment door and ushers them in, following them and shutting the door, repeating his lock-up routine.

“I’ll show you to the guest room, love,” Finn tells Seth, after a glance and a nod from Joe. Seth only offers a small smile and follows after him, hand still clasped firmly with Finn’s. They walk through the living room, down the short hallway to the spare bedroom, Finn tugging Seth in and moving to sit on the bed with him. “Is this good with you?” he asks, gesturing around the room. “Staying in here tonight, alone?”

Seth bites his lip, looking uncertain, but nods. “I’m okay.”

Finn feels a twinge in his chest, sharp and painful. “I know you’re _okay,_ sweetheart.” The younger man blinks at him, and Finn can’t stop himself from reaching up, tucking a strand of hair that has fallen from the loose bun and in front of his eye back behind his ear. (Seth has taken to wearing his hair up, Finn has noticed, more often than not. It suits him, but Finn loves even more when he leaves it down, the way the other man’s hair fluffs in the humidity and fans around his face when he’s excited about something. It’s _breathtaking_ to Finn; most things about Seth are, though, he’s found.) “Do you think you’ll be all right to sleep through the night?”

Leaning in just slightly to Finn’s touch, Seth reaffirms, “I’ll be fine.”

There are footsteps from the hall, and Joe appears in the doorway, a pair of Finn’s sweatpants and a shirt from Finn’s collection of clothes he leaves here for nights like this bundled in one hand. “Here you go, kid,” says Joe, moving to set them on the foot of the bed. “If you need anything, you remember what I said the first night?”

“Knock first.”

Finn eyes Joe and tells Seth, “Text me instead, if you wake, love. Joe’s a right arsehole when he’s startled out of a dead sleep.” Joe makes a noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, and turns back around, his footsteps leading back to his own bedroom, a gruff _goodnight, kid_ echoing down the hall. Finn hears the door shut and squeezes Seth’s hand again before he presses a kiss to the young man’s forehead and stands, their fingers untangling. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“G’night, Finn.”

Finn smiles and exits the room, pulling the door closed behind him and walking to the master bedroom, feeling a small amount of guilt at leaving Seth by himself for the night. He steps into Joe’s room, shutting the door behind him-

-and big hands immediately shove him, face-first, into that same door, a large body pinning him in place. Finn struggles, mostly for show. “You can’t even let me properly into the room?”

Joe snorts, a harsh exhalation through his nose, warm air hitting the nape of Finn’s neck. “Always bitching.” He moves his hands down to Finn’s wrists, gripping tight and bringing them around to the small of his back, crossing them left-over-right, then he steps back, dragging Finn with him, and _shoves,_ pushing Finn onto the bed.

Catching himself easily, graceful as always, Finn turns and lies back on the bed, lips curling into a Cheshire cat grin when he sees Joe tugging at his belt, sliding it out of the loops of his pants, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and beginning to work on the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Well,” he demands, lifting a brow at Finn. “I’m not doing all the work this time. Strip - unless you want more of your expensive clothes ruined. ”

“As if you ever do all the work.” The Irishman rolls his eyes and leans up to strip off his shirt, unbuttoning it hurriedly - Joe is always prepared to rip his shirts - and tosses it at Joe’s face once he’s finished.

Joe snatches it in midair, glaring at Finn. “You looking for another ass-beating? Don’t think I won’t put you over my knee, just because the kid’s here - and if you can’t sit tomorrow, it’s your problem.”

The mention of Seth makes Finn pause, fingers undoing his own belt, pulling the leather free and letting it drop to join Joe’s. “I feel like shit for leaving him alone.”

“Jesus fucking-” Joe runs a hand over his face, grunting out an annoyed sort of noise. “You’ve got to stop doing that.” As he says it, he steps out of his jeans, leaving him in only his briefs, dark and clinging to his already half-hard cock; Finn’s pulse jumps. “You treat him like a child who can’t handle himself, who’s scared of the goddamn dark and needs someone to hold his hand every step of the way.”

Scowling, Finn retorts, “I don’t,” and shimmies out of his slacks, kicking them off the bed, along with his socks, leaving him naked.

Joe’s eyes darken as they trail a slow path from Finn’s neck, no doubt focusing on the light marks from before, down his torso and to the blossoming bruises on his hips. “If you’re worried about the kid, maybe you should be sleeping in the other room.”

“Maybe.” Finn is looking at him under his lashes, his gaze skating over Joe’s hefty form with appreciation. His smile grows wider when Joe pulls off his briefs. “But while I’m here...”

“Arms over your head,” Joe orders. “Any changes to your safeword?”

Finn stretches, showing off his flat belly, and crosses his wrists. “It’s still Shinjuku.”

The big man wraps his belt around Finn’s wrists and tests the give. Then he grabs Finn’s belt to secure the bound hands to the bed’s metal frame before grabbing the supplies from his nightstand and tossing them to the foot of the bed.

The Irishman tugs experimentally and relaxes when he can’t get his hands free. He spreads his legs and winks up at Joe. “Alright, big guy. Been waiting all night.”

“I fucked you earlier, you greedy ass,” Joe chides, turning out the room’s light before he gets on his bed, kneeling between Finn’s legs. The light from the street lamps sneaks into the room through gaps in the blinds, striping everything with lines of amber.

Finn smirks at Joe, lips parted, tongue between his teeth, knowing that he’s especially pretty when he tenses his arms to show off his muscles. Joe runs his hands up Finn’s inner thighs, before grabbing his hips and lifting them off the mattress. Finn laughs with wicked delight at the manhandling, the little shit, so Joe shuts him up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Seth is a little naughty, Finn is shameless, and Joe spits truth

It’s not like he means to eavesdrop, but Seth really can’t sleep in the bed all alone. It reminds him of the days on Hunter’s estate and that’s the last thing he wants to think about, so he creeps out to the kitchen to get a drink and maybe curl up on the sofa or something. As he passes Joe’s bedroom, however, he hears furniture creaking and someone moaning, and Seth _knows_ instantly what’s going on.

Finn sounds _wrecked_ , his voice higher-pitched than usual, breathy and harsh. Joe is mostly silent, as far as Seth can tell, and his throat goes dry as he tiptoes closer to the bedroom door.

 _This is wrong,_ he tells himself, but as he places a hand on the wall next to the door he hears a strangled curse and his pulse _jumps_ , like he’s been shocked by a live wire. _This is wrong,_  and still he presses one ear to the door, holding his breath, and now he hears Joe, deep grunts at a steady rhythm, and Finn’s gasps, and the occasional _harder, Joe, dammit, fuck,_ different iterations of the four words. Then another exclamation from Finn, cut off as if by a hand over his mouth.

He hears Joe laugh, low and dirty, and he quickly steps back, heart pounding. His lips are dry, and so is the back of his mouth, but he doesn’t pay much attention to that; he foregoes the drink and escapes back to the spare bedroom.

It’s dark, but the streetlight outside form thin bars of amber light on the ceiling through the gaps in the blinds. He stares up at them, trying to focus on the pattern of light and shadow, but he keeps thinking about the sounds he’s just heard, and the marks on Finn’s pale neck earlier. The casual intimacy between Joe and Finn. like they are so familiar with each other's bodies that there aren’t any boundaries.

He hears them in his head, as if they are right next to him. How would they do it? Where would Joe put Finn? Under him, strong thighs spread wide around Joe’s hips, hands gripping the headboard? On his hands and knees, back arched, the perfect curve of his spine an invitation, with Joe holding him by the hips and fucking deep into him? Maybe Joe’s seated, resting against the headboard, and he’s making Finn work for it, making Finn fuck himself on Joe’s cock, a hand on the back of the Irishman’s neck. Or they’re on their sides, Joe hooking one of Finn’s legs open by the knee, Finn reaching his arm behind him to pull on Joe's shoulder or neck, and they’re rocking together, deeper and deeper-

Seth shoves his right hand into the borrowed pants, pressing the heel of it on his groin to ease the pressure, while his left hand covers his eyes. He bites his lower lip, wishing he hadn’t heard anything, but he can’t get the images out of his head. He _wants_ to know, he wants so much to know what Joe did, is doing, to pull those sounds out of Finn, to shatter Finn’s usual composure. He wants to see Finn give himself over to pleasure, to see his face when he comes. He tugs on his own cock with his right hand, his calluses causing a bit of discomfort that somehow adds to the overwhelming need coiling low in his gut. The pants are in the way, and it’s too hot with the sheets. He kicks them off and pulls off his tee shirt as well. With his lower lip between his teeth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he pictures Joe and Finn beside him, looking at his naked body. Them admiring the offering. He skims both hands over his chest, his sides, his abs; follows the cut of his hips and then he bends his legs so he can stroke the length of his thighs, pretending these are not his hands, that _they_ would want to touch _him_ , that they would want him to bare himself this way for them to savor.

 _Touch your cock,_ he imagines Joe commanding in that deep, smooth voice, so he licks his hand and does as Joe orders, who then chuckles and says, _Good boy._

 _Stroke yourself,_ he imagines Finn saying, and he does, fighting to keep a quiet whimper from escaping. Imaginary Finn praises Seth, whispering, _So obedient, sweetheart, well done._

He starts jerking off in earnest, Joe’s delighted laughter urging him on, Finn telling him _harder_ and _faster_ , they’re right here with him, watching him as he jerks off for them. His hand is soon slick, so sliding it up and down the shaft is easier; he arches his back more, spreads his legs so they know just how badly he wants them in him. _God_ he wants them to fuck him, he wants it _so much_ , he wishes they could see him now, see just how much he will obey, _I’ll be so good for you, I will be so good, I’ll obey I promise I will, I’ll do anything, let me please you, please fill me up, please fuck me-_

His body locks up as he comes, and he bites into the back of his left forearm just in time so he won’t cry out and startle Finn or Joe. His climax hits so hard that his vision goes white and fuzzy. It takes him a long while before he can even think about cleaning up, and by then he feels like he never wants to move again. (He has to, of course; he doesn’t want Joe or Finn to know what he’s done.)

As he’s wiping off his come in the bathroom, he feels the chill of guilt creeping through his veins. This is a violation, isn’t it? They were having sex, and Seth overheard them, and instead of stepping away and giving them privacy, he actually eavesdropped. To make matters worse, he used what he overheard to do _this_. Even if Becky was right and Finn does have feelings for him, surely what Seth has done is inexcusable.

“Seth Rollins, you’re a goddamn mess of a human being,” he tells himself, and flushes away the evidence. He doesn’t look himself in the mirror as he washes his hands before going back to bed.

***

Joe rolls out of bed, invigorated and ready to face the day. Finn, on the other hand, is still drooling into his pillow, his naked back mottled with light bruises where they’d grappled yesterday and last night. Despite the need to piss, Joe takes a moment to admire Finn’s trim physique. Who would have guessed that the skinny twink so many years ago can age into someone so fine? He snorts, running a hand fondly over Finn’s head and getting a grumble in return, and goes to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and to take a shower.

When he emerges, fresh and alert, Finn has rolled onto his back and the sheets are tangled scandalously low around his hips. Joe feels a warm sense of satisfaction at the bruising around Finn’s neck. He sits down on the edge of the bed and tilts Finn’s chin up, the better to admire his handiwork.

“G’roff,” Finn mumbles, batting ineffectually at the older man. His voice is hoarse. “Breakfast. In bed.”

“Aren’t you a spoilt brat this morning,” Joe says, grinning smugly. It’s always endearingly funny to see Finn behaving like this after a good night’s fuck.

“Your fault.” Finn smiles lazily, eyes still closed. “Hungry. Food. Go.”

Joe snorts again and pulls on clothes. He’s whistling as he heads to the kitchen, but stops short when he sees Seth on the sofa, hugging his knees. The young man needs to trim his beard soon, Joe thinks, and wonders if Seth will let Joe shave him. There’s something sweet about someone offering a throat to him willingly when he has a sharpened blade.

“Help me with breakfast,” Joe says.

Seth scurries over. He has put on weight, healthy weight, since the first time Joe saw him, and while there is lingering tension around his eyes, he doesn’t seem ready to cower at the slightest notice. A month with soft-hearted Finn has done the trick. He sets Seth to slicing tomatoes and portobello mushrooms for grilling while he beats the eggs for omelets. Coffee is brewing in his ancient but reliable coffee maker. Now the space feels lived in again, after a month of emptiness.

They’re at the round dining table, waiting for the toast to be done, when Joe says, “I hear you finally understand what Hunter and his pals did to you.”

“Finn told you?” the other man whispers, hunching over, his arms around his belly.

“Finn and I don’t keep secrets from each other.” Joe munches on a bit of grilled mushroom. He squints at Seth. “Does that bother you?”

Seth shakes his head. A few strands of hair fall in front of his face, and he tucks them behind his ear.

“What’s bothering you then?” Joe waits, content to listen to the sound of the coffee brewing and savoring a quiet morning in after a month of tense planning. Maybe today he'll go over the arsenal, check what needs restocking. Update the security system.

Eventually, Seth says, “I was upset, but... I think I was upset more at myself for letting it happen at all. I mean, I could’ve done something. I should’ve. I didn’t.”

“Everyone reacts differently in extremis,” says Joe, speaking from experience. “But what I’m curious about is what you plan to do from now on.”

The younger man plays with his fingers. “I just want to live well,” he says quietly. “That’s the best revenge, isn’t it? I thought about... about going to the cops, but that’s crazy, because it’s my word against his, and he’s rich and powerful and... and I know the likelihood of a gay man getting any form of justice for this sort of case is too fucking low. Plus, I don’t ever want to see him again. So yeah. I’m just gonna live well, and be happy.”

That’s remarkably generous of the kid. Joe reaches across the counter and covers Seth’s hand with his own. Seth looks up, startled by the contact. Not quite knowing what to say, Joe just squeezes the young man’s hand, and turns to get the toast. He’s just put another two slices of bread in for himself when Seth blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Joe sets the toast in front of Seth and jerks his chin at the peanut butter jar.

To Joe’s mild surprise, Seth appears nervous. The young man licks his lips and picks at the cuticle on his thumb, but stops when he sees Joe noticing. He takes a deep breath, his cheeks and the tops of his ears flushed deeply pink, and says in a rush, “I overheard you guys last night when I was on the way to get some water and I couldn’t help it I got really turned on and I didn’t mean to but I did and I’m sorry I won’t ever do it again please forgive me.”

Joe narrows his eyes as he tries to work out what the younger man said, and then understands. “You heard us fucking and got off on it?”

Seth turns even more pink and stares at his toast, like there’s a Sistine Chapel on it or something.

Chuckling, Joe says, “Hey, kid. It’s okay. These walls are thin.” He sees Seth’s brown eyes grow wide with confusion and smirks. “If you’re worried about what that lazy bum thinks, don’t be. Finn's a shameless slut and won’t be bothered.”

“Who are you calling a shameless slut, _Joseph?_ ” Finn trudges into the kitchen, his usual grace impeded by a slight limp. His voice is gravelly from sleep or perhaps from the rough treatment. “Mornin’, sweetheart. Why’s Joe slandering my name instead of delivering breakfast in bed as he’s supposed to?”

“It’s only slander if it’s not the truth,” Joe tells him, and passes over a plate for him to serve himself. “I was just telling Seth how you wouldn’t give a flying fuck that we were overheard having a good time.”

Finn grins and winks audaciously at Seth, probably unaware of how terrifying the patchwork of pinks and purples on his neck is to the uninitiated. “Not the first time we were overheard. Where _were_ we that first time, Joe?”

“Vatican City.” Joe grins wickedly. The toaster dings again.

Seth goggles at them both. “You guys were caught having public sex in Vatican City?”

“Caught? Pfft.” Finn steals Seth’s coffee and moans almost as pornographically as he did last night as he drinks it. "We were somewhere quite inaccessible."

“Nah, we got away clean. Mostly clean," Joe corrects himself. "But I’m sure someone was very scandalized by all the sounds I got out of him, judging by the Italian yelled in our direction.” Joe pours a new mug of coffee for Seth and winks. Seth blushes again, and now Joe is intrigued. Perhaps, in the future... But right now, he has other fish to fry. _Officer Mustafa Ali... Maybe I’ll text him tonight._ As he sits, he says, “Enough about that. Seth, you get yourself some therapy. Neither of us are equipped to really deal with any emotional or psychological fallout.”

Seth nibbles on a tomato. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you do,” says Finn. There’s no room for argument when he uses that tone. Joe recognizes it as the one Regal taught him. That Finn is using it here on Seth is a good sign that he’s taken Joe’s advice to heart not to treat him like he's fragile and breakable. Kid is a fucking survivor to have bounced back so well so fast; he's more resilient than most people. Seth withdraws, just a little, but relaxes when Finn pats his hand. “I’ll find someone for you.”

Joe raises his eyebrows when Finn stops there. The Irishman frowns at him when Joe makes a ‘ _go on_ ’ gesture, and then rolls his blue eyes. Joe snorts again and focuses on his toast and omelet.

Seth’s big brown eyes look from one of them to the other, loaded fork pausing in the journey from plate to mouth. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Nothing,” says Finn, just as Joe says, “Finn’s interested in you, romantically.”

Seth has different shades of blushes, it turns out. He’s bright pink all over his face, all the way up to his hairline. It’s extremely cute. Joe shrugs off Finn’s glare. Fifteen years of semi-regular fighting and fucking have made them far too used to each other’s bullshit. Besides, if Joe ever gives a shit about anyone’s feelings, he’ll fucking retire from being an assassin.

Sighing, he says, “Look, both of you are adults, theoretically speaking, so I’m going to put you both out of your misery before I get a goddamn miserable headache: Finn, you’re interested in Seth, and Seth, anyone with eyes can tell you have a thing for Finn. So just get together already, quit the pining looks.”

Seth looks like a deer in headlights and Finn appears ready to stab Joe with his fork. After the initial awkwardness fades, the Irishman sighs and turns to Seth. “I don’t want to push you into anything,” he says. “But yes, Joe’s right. I am interested. I also know we’re not ready for a relationship - we need to know each other better and you're still recovering from your recent ordeal - _which is why I haven’t said a word._ ” He glares at Joe again.

Joe shrugs. “Offer’s on the table now, is all.”

It's adorable how flushed Seth can get. Joe gets a little distracted, because he remembers Officer Mustafa Ali blushing, and there’s just a bit of resemblance between this kid here and that attractive cop. If Mustafa grows out his hair... But Joe likes the clean-cut look as well. There’s something about that wholesome innocence that Joe wants to _ruin._

Then Seth says, “Um... But you two...?” He trails off, uncertain how to complete the sentence.

“Stress relief.” Joe is flippant as he finishes his omelet.

“What Joe and I have is not romantic,” Finn explains. Joe nods in agreement. Finn is hesitant, but he takes Seth’s hand and continues: “And Joe wasn't entirely wrong that this is stress relief; I have difficulty processing anger. The only one I trust to be able to handle me when I need to unleash is Joe.”

“Are you angry because of me?” Seth asks, his voice small and worried.

“No, sweetheart, not because of you, but because I couldn’t do anything to the bastards who hurt you,” Finn says, cleverly omitting that he may yet do something to them in the future. Or pay someone (Joe) to do something to them. “Anyway, there's no pressure to respond to this untimely revelation-” another glare at Joe, who drinks his coffee because he doesn’t care, “-until you feel ready.”

Seth bites his upper lip, and then smiles. “Okay.”

Joe likes the smile on him. When the two have changed and are ready to leave, he allows Finn to kiss him on the cheek (“See you when I see you,” Finn says, like he won't bother Joe with whiny texts because he's an _idiot_ ) and then offers Seth a hug. The young man is surprised and looks apprehensive.

“Seth, I may be a scary guy, but you've nothing to be afraid about from me,” Joe says gruffly. When Seth hugs him, Joe pulls him tight and murmurs in his ear, “You’re doing alright, kid. Don't worry so much.”

Seth's hands tighten on Joe's shoulders and he whispers, “Thank you. For everything.” His big, soulful eyes glimmer with emotion, but he doesn't say more, and Finn looks tender and proud of him. They link hands as they leave.

These two. If Joe didn't speak up, they'd be dancing around each other for _years_. Idiots.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Joe gets a text from Mustafa, and Cedric would prefer that his best friend ruin a marriage.

It’s a pleasant surprise when, that afternoon, Joe’s phone vibrates with a new text alert.

_‘Did everything go well with your door repair?’_

There’s a smug sort of satisfaction in Joe’s veins at the sight of the name: _Officer Mustafa Ali._

_‘Without a hitch. Your concern is noted and appreciated, Officer.’_

The return message is - Christ help him - charming ( _‘You can call me Mustafa, if you’d like.’_ ) and makes Joe’s lips curl in a slow smirk. _Oh, I’d like to do many things to you, Officer Ali._

“What’s that look?”

Smirk still in place, Joe looks up to see Becky leaning in the doorway, one dark eyebrow raised in question. “Why are you never working?”

“You were looking at your phone like you were about to eat it.” At Joe’s unimpressed look, her own lips twist into a familiar crooked grin. “Is it the cute cop? Are you texting him?”

“Don’t I pay you to work? Why do you never do it?”

Studying her nails, Becky replies, “A raise just might put me in a working sort of mood.”

“You’re fired.”

“I’m not,” she scoffs. “You’d never find another like me - or Paige.”

Joe snorts and picks up his coffee mug, taking a sip and swallowing before asking, “Why would I need to find another Paige when _you’re_ the one I’m firing?”

“Female solidarity,” she retorts, accent thick, shit-eating grin wider than before. Joe only looks to the ceiling and closes his eyes, as if praying to an unknown deity to deliver him better employees. He hears Becky move closer and immediately shoots his hand out, his fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist as she reaches for his phone, his eyes still closed. “Ah,” she says. “It _is_ the cop. You work fast.”

“If I worked that fast,” sighs Joe, “I’d have no need for nosy employees.”

“Har har.” Becky tugs her wrist free, and Joe finally looks back at her. She’s got a strange sort of expression on her face; if Joe didn’t know her as well as he does, he’d almost call it _concerned._ “He’s a _cop,_ Joe - a cute one, but a cop, nonetheless.”

“That only means he has handcuffs already at-the-ready.” He’s joking - sort of (the thought of locking those slim wrists in a pair of cuffs - any type of restraint, honestly - is one that Joe has already imagined and, _oh,_ it is a beautiful picture), but Joe easily understands the hidden questions in Becky’s dark eyes.

 _What if he’s just_ playing _innocent? What if he’s trying to take you - all of us in this bar - down?_

They’re valid questions - certainly ones he’s already considered. Joe is a pessimist and a realist; he thinks the worst of everyone, always has contingency plan after contingency plan for the worst possible and most likely outcomes on jobs, and he’s already given thought to the possibility of this cop - _Officer Mustafa Ali_ \- being _sent,_ being ‘in the right place, at the right time’ to meet Joe. He’s already taken the time to run the younger man through every program he’s installed, searching for any possible undercover operations or involvement with any of Joe’s known enemies (though most of those are dead) and found nothing.

Mustafa Ali is twenty-five years old, born March twenty-eighth, the younger of two children with an elder sister; he entered the LAPD Police Academy at age twenty-two with his current partner, whom Mustafa has reportedly known since they were seven - _Officer Cedric Alexander,_ Joe thinks with a scowl. He’s had a few mid-level arrests, one high-level - Buddy Murphy, Joe had discovered, though the Australian had gotten the charges dropped on a technicality on the part of the forensic techs, people no doubt on his payroll - but he’s a beat-cop and never been undercover or sent after anyone higher than the middle-men (Murphy had been in the wrong place at the wrong time). In as far as Joe and his contacts could search in forty-eight hours (and that is _very_ far, if he’s honest), Officer Mustafa Ali had no red flags to stand out to Joe, one way or the other.

He says none of this, however.

“I can handle him.” _Oh, yes._

Becky stares at him, eyes narrowed, as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking (she probably does); finally, she sighs and tucks a section of hair behind her ear, the small rings decorating her ring and index fingers glinting in the overhead lights. “Whatever you say, boss man.” She turns to leave, adds a haughty, “Paige and I won’t have money for bail when you’re arrested, since you’re stingy and won’t give us a well-deserved raise, so don’t waste your one phone call on either of us,” and then leaves, footsteps loud, a staccato beat across the floor.

As if he'd call the girls. Finn's the rich one, he can pay bail.

The message thread is still lit on his screen, Mustafa’s _you can call me Mustafa, if you like_ bringing that little smirk back. Joe debates keeping his reply in the vein of ‘small talk’, but that’s not really _him,_ not when he wants something or someone - and Joe _wants_ this cop. He remembers the soft blush, darkening that intriguingly sweet face, the shy way Mustafa had glanced down when Joe had become a bit more forward, their fingers brushing, and the way Mustafa had looked as he’d given Joe his personal number, that confident little smile, like all he’d needed was a bit of encouragement and a clearer view of Joe’s intentions.

Joe wants to see if it translates to the bedroom - the kitchen, the floor, the car, _wherever_ \- just the same: if he’ll be quiet and sweet until Joe praises him, guides him into a rhythm, if those beautifully dark eyes will go wide when Joe slips his hand around that slim throat, how far his pretty blush travels and-

He settles on a reply he decides won’t scare the kid off before Joe can find out. _‘What I’d like is to take you out for coffee, Mustafa.’_ He has much more than coffee in mind, but that will do to start.

There’s radio silence for a few minutes, long enough for Joe to get into the week’s expense report; finally, when he stands to get himself more coffee, there’s a response.

_‘I’d like that, too.’_

Satisfaction is swirling in Joe’s gut as he sends back a place - a little coffeehouse Tyler raves about; Joe’s taken him a few times (because the princess had _begged_ him) and has to admit that it’s one of the better places he’s been to (and, considering that it was Tyler - never one to concern himself with the price of anything, as he has no need to, something Joe finds _endearing,_ of all things - who put Joe on it, he was surprised to find that it isn’t a pretentiously expensive place, but rather _cozy,_ with well-worn leather sofas and armchairs inside, a warm ambiance with the low lighting and dark wood walls and flooring, and a gated-in sitting area just outside the door; a good place to not overwhelm a sweet-faced cop and with good sightlines for Joe to ensure no one can spring a nasty surprise on him.) Joe leaves the time to Mustafa, since he has a more flexible schedule than the other man.

Mustafa decides on a Thursday afternoon ( _“If that’s okay with you, but it’s my day off so I won’t have to end the date too early to go to work.”_ ) and Joe accedes. Mustafa seems to feel quite optimistic about the date, which is an encouraging sign. Joe thinks about the earnest young cop, of his bright, honest smile and sweet, soulful eyes. There’s something vulnerable about him that demands to be protected, for all that he is a trained policeman. Joe taps his fingers on the table, no longer seeing the numbers on the screen; how is he going to bring that side of Mustafa to the surface, until he’s all but _begging_ to be taken care of?

***

Mustafa bites his lower lip so his smile can’t grow any wider. He feels a tug of anticipation and nervousness in the pit of his stomach. This is a new feeling for him. Usually, he knows the other guy as a friend first and then they give the dating thing a try, and so far the attempts have only succeeded in turning those friendships into more awkward friendships.

But Joe, however... Mustafa knows he is fairly attractive, but even so, no one has ever approached him so boldly before. Joe’s confident smile, the not-so-subtle touches when offering him a bottle of water or taking his pen, giving his number to Mustafa under a flimsy pretext so Mustafa has an excuse _not_ to call... He catches himself smiling again when Joe replies with the address of the coffee place for their first date.

 _Their first date_. Mustafa hopes it will be the start of many. And while he’s not really keen on the idea of casual, physical relationships, he really, _really_ wants to climb all over the big man. Joe looks _strong_ , stronger than anyone Mustafa has ever been with, and the idea that Joe may be able to manhandle him gives him certain _ideas_. Especially if they involve large hands on his hips, gripping him and driving him onto a thick c-

“What you smiling about?” Cedric asked, dropping a file on Mustafa’s neat desk and then sitting on the corner.

“Nothing,” Mustafa says, putting away his phone. He hopes he’s not _too_ flushed, but that can still be excused by the heat because the central AC is on its last legs. (Captain Angle has already asked if anyone knows a Catholic priest “to deliver the last rites for it”; the repair guys aren’t coming in till _next Monday_.)

Channeling his mother, Cedric narrows his eyes. “Moose...”

“ _Nothing!_ God, you’re worse than my mother,” Mustafa grumbles. He takes the report and skims through it. “What’s this about?”

“The stolen property case at the rehab center.”

“I thought Crews was on it.”

“Fractured tibia in a chase gone bad,” says Cedric. “Crews has done most of the legwork anyway, we just need to wrap it up.” Then, in an obvious segue, he adds, “You know, Crews is still interested in you, if you wanna give him a chance.”

Mustafa stares at his best friend, baffled. “Just two weeks ago you were saying how _dumb_ he is.”

Cedric gives him a flat stare in response. “That’s because I was comparing him to the ideal man, Barack Obama. Then, I thought, practically _everyone_ is dumb compared to Barack, so I think you should give Crews a trial run.”

Grinning, Mustafa starts reading the report. “Your obsession with finding a man as good as Obama for me is kinda scary, Ced.”

“But Barack _is_ the perfect man! He’s gorgeous, well-spoken, funny, intelligent, stylish in a respectable way, and he loves kids, like you do.”

“He’s also happily married to Michelle, who can totally kick my ass if I try to wreck her home,” Mustafa points out. He sets down the report and squints at Cedric. “What is your deal anyway? You don’t usually tell me to give anyone a trial run.” He thinks about it and adds, “You _never_ tell me to give anyone a trial run.”

“Well, because most guys are dicks. I mean, present company excluded. In fact, _I’d_ date you, except I am straight. Crews is a decent enough guy, I think.”

“You being straight is a real American tragedy,” Mustafa says, deadpan. He makes a show of peering over at Cedric’s desk where a framed photo of Barack Obama is placed next to Cedric’s mother. “More importantly, I’m not interested in Crews. But this isn’t about him. I know you, Ced, so what the hell is going on?”

Cedric rolls his eyes and hops off Mustafa’s desk. “I saw you making eyes at that bar owner who was practically undressing you with _his_ eyes. I am ninety-eight per cent sure he is a criminal, and I’d rather spare you the inevitable heartache when we have to arrest him.”

Mustafa is offended on Joe’s behalf. “What on earth...? Ced, you’re talking nonsense. Joe’s just a regular guy who owns a bar.” A soft smile grows on his face as he recalls that night. “A regular guy with a _really_ _sexy_ voice. Can't you imagine listening to him whispering in your ear with _that_ voice?”

_(“Come on, babe, I'm gonna make you feel so good, gonna make you scream, gonna ruin you for everyone else-”)_

Cedric makes a face of disgust. “Oh my god, don’t go around saying _things_ like-”

“Oh. My. _God._ ” Dana cuts in, eyes wide with glee. She has a coffee mug in one hand and a stack of folders under her left arm. “ _Mustafa Ali!_ You have a crush on that bar owner from the other night? The one with the smirk when he was looking at you? Did you give him _your personal number_ , you audacious lil’ moose?”

Hearing the chatter, Titus looks up from his paperwork. “That big guy with the thick, curly hair? Good choice, Mustafa! Land him and we can scrounge cheap booze. Have you gone on a date yet?”

“Have you _kissed?”_ Dana grins, almost spilling her coffee. “Ooh! Have you _sexted?”_

“Have I- No! Doesn’t anyone have work to do?” Mustafa demands, flustered. (Did everyone see Joe checking him out? Thank goodness he's not slow on the uptake... But still!)

Dana grins. “Work versus our precinct’s precious ray of gay sunshine getting laid? No contest.” She winks at him. “Seriously though. Try sexting him.”

“Why are you _encouraging_ him?” Cedric looks aghast and betrayed at all his colleagues. “That man is a _criminal!_ He looks and behaves like a thug! Come on, Moose, you can pick up some flowers, drop by Crews’ place...”

Mustafa huffs and picks up the report. “No. I am _not_ giving anyone flowers, and I am not interested in Crews in any way. Also, stop saying Joe is a criminal. That’s profiling or something. I’m very sure he’s a law-abiding, tax-paying citizen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of us will happily thank Michelle Obama for kicking our asses.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Tyler gets cuddled a lot.

Tyler storms past the paparazzi waiting at the airport, his hapless bodyguard Jason (or Jordan, he can’t remember which) doing his best to part the crowd for him, and slams the car door furiously. Jason-or-Jordan takes the shotgun position. His chauffeur, Chad, glances in the rear view mirror nervously.

“Where to, sir?” Chad asks.

Still fuming, Tyler snaps, “Home to pick up Prince Pretty, and then we go to the Playroom.”

“It’s two in the afternoon, sir, the Playroom isn’t open,” Jordan (possibly Jason - Tyler decides to just stick to Jason) reminds him.

Sliding his shades down his nose, Tyler glares at him through the mirror. “Then call Finn for an emergency house call.” When Jason looks doubtfully at him, Tyler snaps his fingers at the young man. “Hello? Earth to Jason? Get to it.”

Jason digs out his phone from his coat pocket and dials. He sets it on speaker, which is aggravating - Tyler _hates_ the sound of a ringing phone. Jason’s supposed to wait until Finn answers and then pass the phone to him. In fact, Tyler is very sure this is in the briefing folder all new hires receive, after they sign the NDA documents.

“ _Hello?”_

“Hi, this is Jason Jordan, calling from-”

“Give me the phone.” Tyler snatches it through the window between the front and back seats and turns off the speaker. He snaps the window shut as well. “Finn? It’s Tyler. I’ve had the _worst_ time in Rome and I need you.”

 _“Oh, pet, now is not a good time,”_ Finn says with sincere regret.

Tyler feels the prickle of tears in his eyes and is glad his shades are still on, although there is no one else who can see him. He lowers his voice. “Sir, please. I really, _really_ need you right now.”

 _“Darling, there’s nothing I want more than to be with you at this moment, but I’m not at the Playroom. I’ll be running a two-hour workshop to coach new doms in about... five minutes.”_ Finn sighs. _“Princess, what happened? You wanna tell me over the phone?”_

Not wishing to recount his humiliation in the car without ready comfort, Tyler says, “Not really. I just... I want someone to cuddle me is all. I was thinking of grabbing Prince Pretty and heading over to the Playroom.”

Finn hums and then says, _“Why don’t you call Seth? His shift doesn’t start till after eight, so you can spend some quality time with him.”_

“Can I?”

_“Of course, pet. I’ll text him and he’ll be waiting for you. No dog though. I don’t want dog pee in my Italian loafers again.”_

“But sir-”

_“No, princess. Seth can meet your pooch another time.”_

***

It’s not the first time Tyler’s been to Finn’s penthouse, but it is the first time he’s there without Finn. He told Chad and Jason to leave first; he’ll call them when he’s ready to go home. Seth is waiting for him at the entry to the apartment, looking shy and slightly nervous, and the air smells of chocolate. “Hey Tyler.”

“Sethie!” Tyler feels a weight fall off his shoulders the second he sees Seth. He’s been quietly worried ever since he met the young sub. Seth looks healthier now, his hair thick and fluffy, and without that frightened flinch when he makes eye contact. They hug, Tyler squeezing Seth’s waist (and marveling at the _thickness_ ), and then Tyler pulls away. “Tell me you have cookies or brownies and ice cream and _lots_ of booze, because I just flew back from goddamn _Rome_ and I need pampering.”

Seth smiles. “Finn said you like brownies, so I baked a batch. We have some Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer but, uh, Finn said not to let you drink too much.”

Tyler notices the ‘ _we_ ’, even if Seth doesn’t seem to realize his slip of the tongue. He tosses his fur-trimmed coat on the grand piano and makes his way to the TV den, where a platter of brownies is waiting for him. He bites into one (it's been _months_ since he ate a proper carb, dammit, he'd been thinking about the cameras and the style blogs and shit) and is so preoccupied with his misery that he doesn't notice how fucking _delicious_ it is until the third or fourth bite. Seth joins him with a tub of ice cream and a bottle of red wine. Tyler dispatches him to grab another bottle.

“Don't ever date aspiring actors,” Tyler tells Seth after he's downed his third glass of wine. “They're fucking dicks. All of them.”

“What happened?” Seth asks, big doe eyes full of concern.

The gentle query brings tears to Tyler's eyes and he swipes them away quickly. He's not going to cry over that heartless bastard. Another heartless bastard, the sixth one in _two years_ , damn it. As he digs into his carton of Truffle Kerfuffle, though, his composure breaks and he starts crying, and he can’t _stop_.

Seth immediately takes the ice cream from his limp hands and pulls him into a hug, pressing Tyler against his chest. Tyler gives in and starts bawling, all the emotions he's been keeping a tight lid on since Rome finally pouring out of him.

It had been _humiliating,_ to be told that he's not good enough to be Dango’s date for the Los Angeles premiere, not good enough for the movie's publicity, not good enough to make the film festival circuit with his goddamn _boyfriend,_ to be told right there by the _Fontana di Trevi._ The fucking nerve of Dango to say that to his _face_ in public, after _Tyler_ introduced him to the right people to get him where he is...

“As if he'd have met Mizanin in the first place without me!” he says, sobbing. “All I said was that I'd love to walk the red carpet with him, maybe go to Cannes together, and he said he can't be seen dating me now that his career is taking off, that he wants to be seen as a serious actor and serious actors don’t date people who had a sex tape scandal - like that was even _my fault? -_ when the whole damn _world_ knows we're an item, and he was so nice before, Sethie, he'd brush my hair and he was such a good kisser and he taught me to _dance_ . He was _nice!_ What did I do wrong? How am I not good enough for him? Was I too demanding when I said I wanted to be his red carpet date?”

Seth hugs him and brushes his fingers through Tyler's blond hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Tyler, he was the asshole. You're more than good enough; you're too good for him.”

Tyler burrows into Seth's chest and curls closer. Seth is just a bit taller and he smells pleasant, like Finn’s cologne and also chocolate. It's calming. “No one ever thinks so,” Tyler whispers, damp and sad, like a kitten left out in the rain. He sounds terrible, all nasal and hoarse. “I'm only good for a lay and play but never as a boyfriend. I can't keep any of them. If I weren't Finn's client, he wouldn't care about me either, and Daddy Joe merely puts up with me. I know I can be a handful, but I try my best to be what they want, I really do. I just don't know what I'm doing wrong.”

“You shouldn't have to change yourself to suit them,” Seth says fiercely. “You're sweet and kind and generous. Your exes are fucking blind if they don't see it.”

Taken aback by Seth's vehemence, Tyler shakes his head. “They’re not wrong, though... I'm spoiled and clingy. And I want attention all the time.”

“Well, then they are all idiots.” Seth pulls away to look Tyler in the eyes. He's so sincere that Tyler feels embarrassed, but Seth doesn't let him go. “You were the first guy in _years_ to touch me with kindness and affection. You saw I was frightened and you just... You just took care of me and made sure I had food, not knowing or caring what I could give you in return. You're amazing, Tyler, and I promise you that someone will see that and love you for it.”

Tyler's lower lip wobbles. “You really think so?”

“I _know_ so.” Seth's expression softens and he smiles gently. “Plus, Finn likes you. He doesn’t let clients come here. And Joe doesn't seem the sort to put up with people he doesn't like either.”

The blond laughs, though he sounds truly terrible. His eyes feel puffy. “Bet if I stopped paying Finn, he'll stop seeing me.”

“Bet he won't,” Seth counters.

Still sniffling but feeling slightly better, Tyler burrows against Seth and lets Seth feed him ice cream and brownies until he falls asleep. When he wakes up, he’s bundled in a thick, knitted throw, lying on his side on the couch, and Finn is bending over to tuck the throw in with an affectionate smile. It’s sunset and Finn looks golden and warm.

“Hey, princess.” Finn sits down when he sees Tyler’s awake. Tyler gets into a sitting position and smooths back his hair. “I came back as soon as I could. Seth’s in the shower.” He brushes his fingers over Tyler’s cheek, his thumb swiping lightly under his eye. “Darling, I am so sorry. I read the news.”

“Finn,” Tyler whispers, and promptly bursts into tears again. Pulling the younger man into an embrace, Finn pets him as he cries, murmuring reassurances and pressing kisses on him. It’s not the first time the Irishman has done this, nursing Tyler’s broken heart through a breakup. Just as when they first met and Tyler had felt safe enough to break down in Finn's office back in Bullet Club in Tokyo, freshly wounded from the sex tape scandal. As he’s rocked in Finn’s arms, Tyler clings to his strong shoulders and blubbers an apology about being dumb and weak, that he just wants to make things better. “I wanna call him, but I don’t know what to say for him to take me back. How can I get him to take me back?”

Finn shushes him. “Princess, why would you want to go back to someone who doesn’t treasure you?”

“But he’s _right_ ,” Tyler argues. “I mean, I’m famous _for_ being famous. It’s not like I’m contributing to the world in any great way. Twenty-eight years old and what do I have to show for it? And, and he has to think about how to promote the movie in China, right? This is his big break. He can’t be gay and be a star in China.”

“Fuck China. Fuck the movie. Fuck Fandango. He’s an asshole. Tyler, gorgeous,” Finn says seriously. “Don’t you _ever_ put yourself down, do you understand me? Not ever. And don’t you dare make yourself less than Tyler Breeze just so someone else can shine brighter at your expense.” He wipes away Tyler’s tears and kisses him on the lips, soft and sweet. “You’re a role model to millions of young people out there. Those who are out and proud. Those who are afraid to come out of the closet. They love you. You always make time for your fans, and you’re so generous to animal shelters and other charitable causes. That bastard isn’t good enough for you if he can’t appreciate all this.”

“But-”

“But nothing.” The older man hugs Tyler close and kisses his damp cheek. Smiling, he adds, “Say the word, princess, and I’ll send the boys to maim him.”

Tyler laughs, hiccuping a little, and shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” He clings to the older man, however, feeling as if all his nerves are exposed. If he didn't have Finn and Seth, he might have found some less healthy means of coping.

“You deserve better, pet.” Finn smooths down Tyler’s blond hair.

“I just want someone who’s mine,” the young man whispers, curling against Finn’s neck. “Mostly mine, anyway. I mean, I love you and Daddy Joe, but it’s not the same.”

Finn presses his lips to Tyler’s brow. “No, it’s not.” He hums, and then says, “I’m taking you off my client list, pet.”

“Why?” Tyler is alarmed. “Sir, did I do something wrong?”

“No, darling, you’ve done nothing wrong. But you’ve not really been just a client for a long time.” Finn kneads circles into the back of Tyler’s neck. “You’re my princess, and Joe’s, and we’ll take care of you until you find someone who loves you the way you should be loved.”

***

The night after Tyler cried over his breakup, he shows up at Seth’s workplace. Seth is bewildered by the sight of _Tyler Breeze_ waltzing into a little convenience store. At least he’s not in anything too glamorous for the neighborhood, just an emerald green hoodie and skin-tight jeans with really expensive-looking sneakers, as well as huge aviator shades.

“Hi, Sethie!” Tyler waves at him and begins exploring the store.

Pausing in the middle of tallying the day’s take with Seth, Mick stares at the blond poking around in the candy aisle. “Isn’t that _Tyler Breeze_?”

Seth’s ears flame with embarrassment and avoids looking at his boss. “Um, we have a mutual friend. I think he’s trying to stay incognito though.”

Tyler skips back to Seth with a candy bar in hand and sidles around the counter, throwing his arms around Seth’s waist and hooking his chin on his shoulder. “I want this.”

“Ty, I’m kinda in the middle of something right now,” Seth whispers, but he hugs the blond back. “And you’re not supposed to be behind the counter.”

“I’m not? Okay.” Tyler bounces out and leans against the counter. Then he finally notices Mick who is sitting down behind the cash register. “Hi! Are you Seth’s boss?”

“Hello,” Mick says, with his usual warmth. “Yep, I am. Call me Mick.”

“Cool. Can I loiter around tonight, Mick?”

Mick shrugs. “I don’t see why not. Alright, Seth, leaving you with change for two hundred, I’m banking the rest.”

“Sure thing, Mick.” Seth sits down to sort out the change. “Have a good night.”

“Nice seeing you, Seth’s friend,” says Mick, winking. “Have that candy bar on me.”

Once Mick is gone, Tyler slips behind the counter and sits in Seth’s lap. With a small sigh of fond resignation, Seth loops one arm loosely around Tyler’s waist; the one chair behind the counter squeaks. Tyler unwraps the candy bar and breaks off a bit to feed it to Seth. Apparently, Tyler's decided that since Seth appreciates physical affection, he's determined to ply Seth with all he can provide.

“When’s your day off?” Tyler asks.

“Thursday,” Seth tells him. “Why?”

Before Tyler can answer, the bell over the door jangles and Aleister walks in. His eyebrows climb when he sees Tyler and Seth, but he just retrieves his stuff from the shelves and comes to the counter. “Hey, Seth.”

“Aleister, hi.” Seth shifts Tyler off his lap so he can ring up the purchase. Ham and cheese, a dark beer, a roll of mints. “Hey, um. Thanks. For the other day. When you waited for the Uber with me.”

Aleister smiles in his minimal way, just a slight curve of his lips and a hint around his eyes. “You seem better. May I ask what happened that day?”

“I, uh... Guess the word is ‘triggered’? It, it wasn’t...” Seth takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna be okay, though. I’m gonna get therapy and all that.”

“Sounds good.” Aleister tilts his head. Seth notices the leather collar around the other man’s neck and feels a familiar longing for an obvious mark of ownership, but there’s no lock on the ring. Aleister mistakes Seth’s attention and rubs at the collar with a hint of self-consciousness. “It’s only an accessory.”

“Oh, uh. Yeah. Sorry for staring.” Seth bites his lip.

Tyler pipes up. “I like it. You look good. No lock?”

Aleister smiles, a little more widely. “She’ll put it on later. You’re into the scene?”

“We both are,” says Tyler, linking his arm with Seth. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Blushing, Seth shakes his head. ‘I was. Am. I’m kinda... between, right now. Working out some issues.”

The heavily tattooed man shrugs. In his leather vest, tank top and collar, he looks intimidating, but his voice is very gentle when he offers, “Well, if you ever want to talk about anything, just pop in next door.” He nods at Tyler and then at Seth before he exits with a wave.

Tyler rests his chin on Seth’s shoulder. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have answered for you.”

“It’s okay. Aleister’s nice. You haven’t told me why you’re here.” Seth discards the wrapper of the candy bar. He turns to gaze at Tyler and smiles. “Still moping?”

“A little, but Prince Pretty was extra cute this morning and I went to the shelter earlier to help feed the dogs, so I’m better. Oh, Rusty, the ten-year-old? He was adopted today. That really cheered me up. I just wanna hang out.”

“I have to work right now though,” says Seth apologetically.

Tyler pouts. “I can totally buy this place out and you won’t ever have to work again.” He wrinkles his nose and adds, “But I won’t because Finn says flaunting my wealth is bad manners.”

“I like working here,” Seth assures him. “I’m meeting different people every day and I get to earn a bit of my keep.”

“Hmm. No idea why that’s important to you. How about you and me go on a date tomorrow and you can explain to me? It _is_ your day off.” Tyler wiggles against Seth. “Come on. I know a great coffee place, and I’ll make sure I’ll show up low-key, like this.”

Seth _does_ like coffee. “Okay. Afternoon? I'm having my first appointment tomorrow morning.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Joe and Mustafa almost have coffee.

Mustafa looks nervous when he approaches the coffeehouse, Joe notices; it sends a little thrill through him, the way the younger man is biting his lip, lashes hiding his eyes until he glances in Joe’s direction and they light up, a smile (still as bright as the Sun, beautiful and intense and blinding) spreading over those luscious lips. (Joe has another flash of them in his mind, wrapped around Joe’s fingers as his tongue flicks around and between them, those dark eyes sultry and inviting and _begging_ Joe to just _do something._ )

“Hi,” Mustafa greets when he’s close enough, his eyes trailing up and down Joe’s casually dressed form, unashamed. Taking off his shades, Joe takes the time to return the gaze, taking in the well-fitted lavender button-up, the tight - _God, are they tight_ \- skinny jeans, as black as Mustafa’s hair, the well-worn shoes. “You haven’t been waiting for very long, have you?” God help Joe, the kid actually seems _concerned;_ it’s endearing.

Offering up a warm smile, the one that always puts Tyler at ease when he’s in that mindset that needs gentle reassurance, Joe tells Mustafa, “I just got here a few minutes ago, so no worries.” (He’s actually been around for nearly a half-hour - it’s an ingrained habit, after so long in his line of work, to arrive earlier than necessary, scoping out the location and checking for any possible threats; anywhere other than so close to home, and he would have been around for _hours_ longer, to be safe.) He gestures to the door, eyes making their way back down and up Mustafa’s frame. “Shall we?” At the officer’s nod, the responding smile, Joe opens the door, his palm going to Mustafa’s mid-back - neutral territory - and ushering him gently inside.

“I’ve never been in here before,” Mustafa confides to Joe, head tilting back and around to take in the little room, the fairy lights decorating the ceiling shining in his eyes. “Ced and I have walked by it a lot, but we’ve never come in. It’s a lot more…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of a word to describe the little coffeehouse; Joe can’t help but to let his own eyes linger along the lines of Mustafa’s slender neck as he tips his head back once more. “It’s _warmer_ than I expected, I guess?” Shrugging, he finally looks back at Joe and gives him a sheepish grin. “That’s all I can think to describe it.”

Joe hums and urges him forward with a little pressure from his hand still on the shorter man’s back, putting them in the short line to order. “I was dragged here once - a few times, actually - by a friend; I expected it to be some ‘hipster’ place, with overpriced coffee and all that, but it’s not too bad. Definitely hipster,” he snorts, eyes rolling, “but it’s not overbearing.”

Mustafa breathes out a laugh. “That’s exactly what Cedric thinks it’s like.”

A scowl threatens to make an appearance, but Joe stops himself. “Yeah, well, Tyler sold me on it; not that I’ll ever tell him that,” he adds, and Mustafa laughs again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. The long sweep of Mustafa's neck makes it easy to picture a collar around it. Something in a dark leather, perhaps, with intricate embossing, finished with bright steel. Joe can smell the young man's aftershave - a simple and fresh scent; he's not trying _too_ hard, but it's not like he doesn't care.

“How can I help you?” the too-chipper barista asks as they approach. Mustafa orders a simple, too-sugary, iced concoction that would make Tyler proud; Joe chuckles quietly to himself as he orders his own drink, a simple black coffee.

Mustafa makes a face. “I didn’t think anyone drank their coffee black. Not even anyone I know at the station drinks their coffee with anything less than half a cup of pure sugar.”

Snorting on a laugh, Joe pays for their drinks, pushing away Mustafa’s attempts to offer his half. “The last thing I need is a sugar crash, two hours later.” They move to the side to wait for their orders, Joe leaning his back against the dark wall, Mustafa standing close enough that Joe - if he were the type to cross unset boundaries with partners - could reach out and grip the shorter man’s hips, tug him in close, one of Joe’s thighs in between both of Mustafa’s, Joe’s hands guiding him in a rhythm Joe sets for him, soft little whimpers catching the other patrons’ attention-

“It must be a wonder I manage to run down any perps, then.” Mustafa’s dark eyes are sparkling again, and there is laughter in his voice.

“There’s an exception to most rules,” Joe says, lips quirking.

Head tilting curiously ( _like a goddamn puppy,_ thinks Joe), Mustafa opens his mouth to speak, but their drinks are placed on the counter, the employee calling their names; Mustafa grabs them both, carefully, and steps ahead of Joe when he gestures once again, Joe’s hand returning to his back as they move to the door, the big man opening and holding it for Mustafa to get through without burning himself. He finishes his thought as they settle in one of the patio settings outside the shop, Joe with his back to the wall and Mustafa beside him, the officer sliding Joe’s coffee carefully over to him. “Not ‘every rule’? Isn’t that the saying?”

 _Oh, pup._ “Some rules are important and there for both parties’ comfort and-”

“Mr. Joe?”

There’s a squeal behind Mustafa. “Oh, I _knew_ you loved this place!” Tyler appears in front of their table, a sight to see even in a simple (yet still very pricey, Joe doesn’t doubt) light-pink shirt, loose and flowing, and designer jeans (tight enough that Joe bets he won’t even be able to slip his fingers into either of the back pockets, if he tries). He clasps his hands together, clapping once before he lopes around the table and latches onto Joe, hugging him. Seth, now shifting into Joe’s line of sight where the blond stood a moment ago, smiles shyly and waves at Joe, waiting for Joe’s return nod before his brown eyes shift curiously to Mustafa.

Joe places one hand on Tyler’s lower back in a half-hug, his other still around his coffee cup. “Tyler,” he says quietly. “What are you doing back in town? I thought you were in Rome.”

“I came back early. It’s Sethie’s day off, so I thought I’d show him the best coffeehouse in the city!” People look up at the sound of his voice, murmurs starting around their little group. _Tyler Breeze,_ Joe hears. _It’s Tyler Breeze! Where's his boyfriend?_  Tyler leans in to speak directly into Joe’s ear, whispering teasingly, “Are we interrupting a _date,_ Daddy?”

There are patrons with their phones out, aiming at them; Joe turns his head to avoid the cameras - his face being slammed onto the front page of whatever gossip tabloid or blog site these people sell their photos to is the last thing a man like Joe needs. He sees that some people on the sidewalk have stopped, glancing in their direction, as well. _Great,_ he thinks. (Not that he’s upset with Tyler; it’s a minor inconvenience for Joe, but it’s the princess’ _life._ )

Sighing, Joe replies, voice low, only for the two of them, “Yes, princess, you are.”

“Who is he?”

“No more questions now, brat. I don't know how it'll go yet.” Joe squeezes the blond's waist lightly in warning. He'll find out more from Finn why Tyler's home early. Perhaps there's someone who will find a need for knee surgery. (Joe isn't  _soft_ for Tyler and his too-giving heart, but God help the ones who try to take advantage of the blond. The fellow behind the sex tape probably still has nightmares about duct tape and knitting needles.)

He really should have known better. Tyler unfolds from the hug and turns to face Mustafa with a sunny, _I'm a Celebrity!_ smile. “Hi! Tyler Breeze, as you may know. What's your name?”

Joe can’t hold back his resigned sigh. The little brat. 

Something like shock, a little bit of awe, passes over Mustafa’s face, but he does a good job of shoving it all back into a more casual expression. “I’m, um- I’m Mustafa.” He holds his hand out, and Tyler looks charmed by the simple gesture, immediately taking the other man’s hand, shaking it, and then holding the grip a few moments longer. Joe squeezes Tyler’s waist once more, a little harder, and the blond lets go. Mustafa is smiling, a little huff of laughter escaping him as he looks at Joe. “This is the Tyler you were talking about? The one who showed you this place?”

“The one and only!” Tyler exclaims. God help Joe, he looks fit to burst. There are more people looking at them now, making Joe wary; people on the other side of the street are preparing to cross.

There’s a sharp _yip_ from Seth’s direction, and Joe groans. “Don’t tell me you brought Prince Pretty.”

“Prince Pretty?” Mustafa looks like he’s struggling to hold back full-on laughter now.

Seth speaks this time. “His dog,” he says and holds up the end of a neon pink leash. The dog in question - a bastard little demon in disguise, if anyone asks Joe - lets out another high-pitched _yip_ at Seth’s feet. It struts over to Mustafa’s leg, sniffing cautiously as he looks down at it, then - to Joe’s amazement (and disgust) - the little asshole puts both of his front paws on Mustafa’s shin and squeaks again, tongue lolling out when Mustafa obliges him and scratches behind his oversized bat ears. Its ugly bulging eyes are staring in the general vicinity of the young cop and its stump of a tail wags happily.

“He loves you!” Tyler claps his hands again, teeth flashing in a smile of pure delight. “Oh, Princey, you've made new friends today.”

“That dog is the worst,” Joe tells Mustafa. (It is the  _ugliest_ rat of a chihuahua to exist, but Joe knows better than to voice that aloud. Tyler really does love his little demon.)

“No, he isn’t!” Tyler protests. He pulls out a chair and motions for Seth to sit, and then pulls out another for himself. A quick wink at Joe tells him he’s definitely crashing the date on purpose. He must have broken up with that Italian stud (what's his stupid name?) if he's acting extra bratty for Joe's attention. “Anyway, this is my friend, Seth.”

“Hi,” Mustafa says, a little bemused. “Mustafa. Nice to meet you.”

Seth ducks his chin but he smiles back. “Hey. Um, Tyler, maybe we should leave Mr. Joe and Mustafa to their date.”

Joe kneads the bridge of his nose, a tactical measure to hide his face from the few who are already taking photos and videos. Prince Pretty is growling at him from behind Seth’s ankle, and he has to resist the urge to growl right back. At least the little rat-dog knows better than to pee on him, as he always does on Finn. (That is the little hellhound's one saving grace: he loathes Finn more than he hates Joe.)

“I’ve told you to call me Joe, kid,” he reminds Seth, then tells Tyler, “and he’s right. Get a move on.” The _brat_ is unspoken, but the smug little grin the blond flashes at Joe tells him that it’s heard, loud and clear. And it also indicates that Tyler is  _not_ obeying, just because he knows Joe will not discipline him right here in public.

“Aw, but we’re just-”

“Mr. Breeze! Tyler Breeze!”

There’s a flurry of motion around them: people closing in; hands reaching; phones waving. Across the street some paparazzi are gathering, ready to cross. Joe knows then that Tyler and his latest squeeze have definitely broken up if they're hunting him down for photos. They cross the street in a whole gang, cameras waving as they run. 

“Mr. Breeze, Tyler, who are these people? Any of them your new boyfriend?” 

“Tyler, can we take a selfie together?”

“Tyler! Did you and Fandango really split?”

"Tyler!"

Across from Joe, Seth looks panicked as the sudden crowd surrounds their table, shrinking in on himself, bending down to pick up the shaking dog, furious little shrieking barks escaping Prince Pretty even as Seth attempts to calm him. Tyler reaches toward him, patting his head, which quiets the yipping to a low growl; the blond’s brow is furrowed, a small moment of frustration evident before he clears his expression, delivering a blinding smile to everyone as he stands. Putting on his shades, Joe looks to his left and sees Mustafa bracing himself against the table as more and more people press in behind him - trying to reach Tyler, to get a better view, a better angle of the celebrity in their midst - and makes his decision.

Joe rises as well, keeping his face away from the phones and cameras, and grabs Mustafa’s wrist, his hold firm as he tugs. “Let’s go.” He has to shout to be heard, but Mustafa nods and stands, putting himself close to Joe’s body.

“Shouldn’t we try to help disperse the crowd?”

“Ty’s security is coming,” Joe says into Mustafa’s ear, ducking down enough to keep his face hidden, his other hand pointing down the sidewalk where Tyler’s personal bodyguard is striding toward the scene, an anxious look on his face. _Good,_ Joe thinks to himself. _He knows he’s fucked up._ “He’ll handle it and take care of Seth and Tyler.” Joe wouldn’t be leaving them, otherwise; he needs to get away from here quickly, though, before someone catches the wrong angle of him, splashes his face where anyone and everyone can see.

Mustafa grabs his iced drink, but Joe forgoes his coffee, choosing to keep his free hand out in front of him, trying to clear a path through the bodies around them, his other hand still gripping Mustafa’s slim wrist, pulling him along behind him. They’ve barely made it a few feet before Joe feels Mustafa jerk, his wrist nearly coming out of Joe’s hold; when Joe looks back, Mustafa’s lavender shirt, wet and dark, is sticking to him, his cup smashed at his feet, a grimace on his face. Joe lets himself take in the way the fabric molds to the other man’s body, flicks his tongue out to lick his lips, a split-second motion, and notices Mustafa’s eyes, even with displeasure at his situation in their depths, follow along with it.

Joe finally drags his eyes away and shoves through another few people, pulling Mustafa along, the broken cup forgotten on the ground behind them, probably trampled by Tyler’s fans. They’re closer to the wall of buildings than the street, so when he gets to the small alleyway between the coffeehouse and the small printing company next door, Joe gives up on pushing through the crowd and, in a desire to get away from the waving phones taking video and photos, ducks away into the side alley, Mustafa behind him. Joe moves until they’re halfway between the still shoving and screaming crowd and the exit to the alley that Joe knows leads to the next street over, the direction Mustafa had come, before he turns around, fingers still clasped around the shorter man’s wrist, his thumb smoothing along the delicate bone there.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, the pet name slipping out, and Mustafa’s lips part as his breath catches. “Tyler should’ve known better.”

Mustafa shakes his head, a little weakly, and picks at his soaked shirt with the hand Joe isn’t holding captive, nose wrinkling cutely. “No, I’m okay; someone just bumped me, is all.” Long eyelashes flutter up, pretty eyes staring at Joe as he says, “It wasn’t Tyler’s fault. It’s got to be pretty exhausting, not even being able to have a normal day out without people mobbing you like that; he handled it really well.”

Something pleasant twists in Joe’s gut at the soft defense of the princess, the worried way Mustafa glances back toward where Tyler and Seth still are, and he works not to let it show on his face. He hears Tyler’s bodyguard (one that he’s going to _strongly_ recommend to Tyler that he _fire_ for not being nearer, ready to act, whether Tyler had told him to stay in the car or not; personal security members are to put the safety of their charges above all, and Joe knows well that anything could have happened - to Tyler _or_ Seth or that goddamn demon hound - before the idiot had made his way through the crowd) announcing to the crowd that Tyler would be at a store opening in two days’ time. He sees the man ( _Jason Jordan,_ Joe recalls, having done his own background checks on the young man when Tyler had made his decision to hire him) push through the people at the alley’s entrance - Tyler close behind him, holding firmly to a still slightly panicked Seth, the chihuahua in his arms yipping angrily - and relaxes.

“Still,” Joe tells Mustafa, the smooth back-and-forth path of his thumb switching to one of gentle circles. “Someone could’ve been hurt.” He steps closer in the cramped space, finally releasing Mustafa’s wrist to gently cup the other man’s neck, his fingers curling around to the officer’s nape, a crooked smile spreading when Mustafa’s cheeks darken just slightly. “He managed to ruin our first date, as well.”

The pulse beneath Joe’s palm quickens, the other’s eyes moving between Joe’s own eyes and his lips. “I-” Mustafa swallows hard, the muscles working under Joe’s hand, before he continues. “No, it was- It’s probably the most exciting first date I’ve ever been on,” he laughs. Joe joins in, the pad of his thumb trailing lightly over the line of Mustafa’s jaw, feeling the scratch of the scruff under his skin. “And I’d like it to continue,” admits Mustafa, just a bit shyly, “but I’m soaked with caramel macchiato frappe, so I think I need to go home while I’m ahead today.”

There’s disappointment in the soft words, making Joe smile once again. He allows himself one more pass along Mustafa’s jawline, feels and hears the small sigh when he removes his hand, wants to press his lips to those plump ones, parted just enough to give Joe a glimpse of a pink tongue, but he refrains - something to keep the both of them looking forward to the next time.

Mustafa peers up at Joe, and it’s tempting to close in, but Joe steps aside. He knows he’s not imagining Mustafa’s little sigh of disappointment, though he doesn’t think the younger man is aware of it, but it’s a promising sign. Joe leads them out the other end of the alley after discreetly checking it for trouble.

“I’m this way,” Mustafa says, pointing.

Joe tilts his head, considering. He really should check in on Tyler and especially Seth; that sort of commotion is scary for some people unused to large crowds. “Alright then. I’ll text you later, Mustafa.” He smiles and allows himself one more brush of his thumb along the edge of the other man's hand. "Be safe."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Mustafa contemplates a thing and Joe delivers some discipline.

_‘Sorry the coffee date went awry.’_

Mustafa’s phone lights up with the message from Joe, and he smiles broadly when he remembers how the date ended. He really shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, still half naked and his hair damp from the shower, and that leads him to recall Dana’s advice about _sexting_.

Before Mustafa can fully shake off the idea of sending a photo of his current state to Joe, the other man sends another text: _‘How can I make it up to you?’_

The young man chews on his lower lip. He can almost hear Dana urging him to ask Joe for a very specific kind of photo, but he ignores that little voice of Evil. _‘i was wondering if you’d like to try a 2nd date, but let me pick the spot this time. fairly sure tyler breeze won’t go where i go.’_

No reply. Has Mustafa misunderstood Joe? Has he inadvertently insulted one of Joe’s closest friends? Mustafa didn’t miss the way Tyler practically draped himself over Joe, nor the way Joe casually squeezed Tyler’s waist. He’s fretting enough that he’s chewing on his thumbnail when his phone buzzes again, surprising him enough that he nearly drops it.

_‘Sure thing. Same time next week? I won’t be opposed to seeing you earlier though.’_

_‘neither will i’_ Mustafa texts back before he can think better of it. _‘how abt sat night? i can swap shifts (someone owes me a favor) and we can go to this pakistani restaurant. usman’s, heard of it?’_

Then he realizes that Joe will be busy on Saturday nights with the bar, and slaps his forehead. He's trying to decide if Monday will be better when his phone buzzes.

_‘Actually, I have. Good reviews but I’ve not tried it myself. That sounds great. The girls can manage without me for one night. 7pm ok by you? Or would you like it later?’_

It’s probably too soon to send half-naked selfies to Joe. (Probably. Definitely. Dammit. Why is dating so _hard?_ ) Mustafa taps out a message, deletes half of it, and then rewrites it two more times before he’s happy with what he’s written. _‘can’t wait. maybe this time we can get to the end of the date without me getting soaked.’_

Another pause, but Mustafa sees that the other man is typing, and sits on the edge of his bed to wait for Joe’s reply. When he does get a response, he’s very glad he’s sitting down, because his knees suddenly feel weak with lust. His gaze darts to the nightstand where he's stowed his favorite toy, before returning to the screen.

 _‘I feel I ought to make a quip about getting you wet and sticky on our first date... But it may be too soon for that.’_ Joe manages to come across both flirtatious and sincere. Mustafa’s mouth goes dry and he has to lick his lips. Another text pops up. _'Let’s see where date no. 2 takes us. See you Saturday evening, Mustafa.’_

The young cop takes a deep breath. Then he goes to his nightstand.

***

With that second date secured, Joe sets down his phone and turns to stare at Tyler, who is already kneeling on his plush carpet. They are all in Tyler’s bedroom, with Prince Pretty left in his own room to play with his toys. Seth is standing next to Tyler, shoulders hunched and looking like he’s about to be scolded as well, though Joe has no real intention of doing so. Kid has been scared, himself.

Tyler is biting his lower lip, the epitome of contrition. It’s an act, Joe knows, but he is charmed despite his better judgment. Still, he ignores the blond and speaks to Seth first. “I’m going to be disciplining Tyler. Do you want to stay?”

“Please stay,” Tyler implores from waist level. Joe frowns at him and the young man subsides, but he tugs on the leg of Seth’s jeans.

Seth’s eyes dart from Tyler to Joe to Tyler again. “I... I-I don’t, um. I was there too and, and I shouldn’t have pointed you out to Tyler, so that was my fault. Please don’t punish him, Mr. Joe.” A frightened look passes over his face and he corrects hastily, “Sir. I mean, Joe.”

Joe brushes a finger along Seth’s jaw and makes him look Joe in the eye. The older man is unusually gentle when he asks, “Is it difficult for you to call me by my name?”

“Yes, sir.” The young man’s cheeks flare pink; if not for his trimmed beard, he’ll look like a schoolboy caught doing something naughty.

Joe likes the deference shown, if not the _sir_. It reminds him of Regal, that stuffy old London queen, and of Finn, who was trained by Regal. After some consideration, Joe cups Seth around the side of his neck. “You may call me Mr. Joe when out in public,” he tells the young man, “and when we’re in private, you may call me Daddy, if you wish.”

Seth goes bright red and his large brown eyes go wide with surprise and excitement. Thinking with smug delight at how _mad_ Finn is going to be, Joe smirks and adds, “If you’re not leaving Tyler to be disciplined alone, then kneel down next to him. But if you do kneel, I’m going to consider you one of _mine_. Do you understand what that means?”

Seth visibly shivers, as if overwhelmed by the thought. Joe strokes the side of his neck, the back of his head, patiently waiting for Seth to decide. It must be strange for him, to be offered the choice to submit than to be _ordered_ to submit.

After perhaps two minutes, the young man finally decides. “Yes, sir.” When Joe raises an eyebrow at him, Seth whispers, “Yes, d-Daddy.” His squeezes his eyes shut, teeth catching on his lower lip like he can’t believe what just came out of his mouth, and his blush spreads down his neck. Tyler grins up at them both, eyes dancing with delight. (He’s going to be _insufferably cute_ about this, Joe knows, and no amount of forbidding glares will make him shut up about this moment.)

The word sounds _good_ coming from Seth. Joe nods in approval and pats his cheek gently. “To the carpet, kid.” The young man drops to his knees next to Tyler, the two of them linking hands. Tyler is looking _anticipatory_ , the little brat. Joe retrieves his phone again and takes a picture of the two, sending it to Finn with a caption ‘ _He’s ready’_ , then mutes his notifications. Let that wishy-washy Irish fucker stew over this new development.

Joe takes a moment to observe both of them. Brunet and blond, bearded and clean-shaven, bashful and bratty... It’s a lovely study of contrasts. Joe knows he’s not going to fuck either of them today - he’s not in the mood, not after a ruined date with Mustafa, and he isn’t going to usurp Finn’s claim - but he’s going to enjoy learning Seth’s reactions to being spanked.

Right now Seth looks frightened, his fingers tangled with Tyler's, but he keeps his gaze steady and back straight. Beside him, Tyler's all but ready to throw himself over Joe's lap. Joe narrows his eyes and makes his decision as he toes off his shoes.

“It was a minor annoyance, but you were disobedient when I asked you to leave, so that rates a spanking. How many times, Tyler? And before you get _too_ eager, remember Seth is having a share of what you’re getting.” He makes himself comfortable on the bed, legs crossed.

The blond glances at Seth and tugs him down to whisper in his ear. Seth shakes his head, and Tyler mutters something else. Joe just observes them. It'll be fun when Seth finally allows himself to trust them completely. Joe and Finn will take good care of him.

Eventually Tyler talks Seth into whatever he's planned, so Joe raises an eyebrow to wait for a number.

“Daddy, it was more my fault than Seth’s,” says Tyler. “May I have ten?”

“What about Seth?”

“Five?” Tyler suggests.

So this is what Seth thinks he can take. He's proud of Tyler, though, for being considerate and taking the blame without prompting; it's easy for the pretty young blond to be selfish.

When Joe orders Tyler to come up on the bed, he notices Seth's jaw clenching and the brief flutter of acute concern. (Fucking Hunter. Joe relishes the day someone puts a hit out on The Game. He'll even give a discount.) On the other hand, Tyler practically _skips_ over, his shoulder-length golden hair bouncing slightly with every step.

“In your underwear, Tyler,” Joe orders. Tyler shimmies out of his jeans and makes a show of positioning himself _just so_ across Joe's lap, pressing his side into Joe's belly and dropping to his elbows, his pert ass placed at optimum spanking height. Joe can feel the younger man's arousal pressing against his leg. After running his fingers up between Tyler’s thighs, rubbing lightly over his balls and drawing a yearning sigh from him, Joe raises his hand and brings it down in a stinging slap on the presented rear end.

Tyler squeals. If he'd been naked, he'd have wanted to see the hand print Joe left, but this isn't their usual playtime.

“Don’t interrupt my dates again,” Joe warns. He lands another loud smack on the other cheek, as hard as Joe knows Tyler can take it. The younger man holds still, fingers curling into the duvet with a soft whimper. Instead of finishing up, Joe runs a gentle hand through Tyler's hair. “If you need someone tonight, come to the bar,” he murmurs. It is rare for the blond to cut short a vacation with a boyfriend, particularly one that Tyler genuinely likes; Joe suspects they broke up in Rome, because otherwise Tyler will be eager to tell him all about the trip. He'll check the gossip sites later, both on Tyler's boyfriend and to see if his face appears anywhere on the internet.

Tyler peers over his shoulder, his expression both grateful and vulnerable. He doesn't answer but relaxes more over Joe's lap, mutely waiting for the rest of the swats. Joe administers them, always as hard as Tyler can take it, because that's what the brat likes and needs right now. Tyler whines and digs his fingers into the sheets, his toes curling with every smack. Red blooms over Tyler’s skin where his hot pink briefs do not cover. The ten spanks administered, Joe helps Tyler into a cuddle, whispering quiet praise into his ear.

Throughout the short disciplining, Seth has been watching from the floor. Once Tyler climbs off Joe's lap, a little more gingerly than when he started, Seth gets to his feet, stumbling a little as he walks to the bed. With every step he grows more tense; Joe is concerned but doesn't say anything, until the young man is kneeling on the bed.

“How do you want me, d-Daddy?” Seth asks in a whisper, cheeks going red, which on first glance is cute, until Joe notices the clenched fists.

Tyler must have seen them too, because he reaches out to hold Seth by his hands. “Come on, Sethie, I know how Daddy likes it.”

It's a bit awkward but Tyler guides Seth over Joe's thick thighs and positions him. Unlike Tyler, Seth's entire form is rigid, as if he's bracing himself for torture. Joe undoes Seth's hair tie and combs out his fluffy long hair with his fingers, petting him affectionately along his spine. Tyler sits next to Joe, leaning his weight against the big man, content to hold out his hands for Seth to hold onto.

“Ready?” Joe asks, a hand on Seth's rear.

Seth swallows audibly, then whispers, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Take a breath and exhale for me,” Joe instructs, and once he sees that Seth has done so, he lifts his hand and lands the first strike, about half as hard as he swatted Tyler. Seth jolts, startled, and then he _squirms_ ; it's the most adorable wiggle Joe has seen in some time.

“Sorry, Daddy. I'll keep still,” Seth says.

Joe frowns. There's something _off_ about the way the young man said that. Nonetheless, the older man pets Seth gently before slapping his ass a second time, and again Seth can't help but jerk at the contact, and he wiggles again.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Seth mutters, and goes tense again. “I will hold still, I promise. Please don’t be mad.”

Joe wants to _maim_ Hunter. Spanking is supposed to be a light-hearted bit of play, but even this has been poisoned for Seth. Beside him, Tyler tucks his face against Joe's shoulder, probably hiding his distress or anger, his fingers squeezing Seth’s hands.

The older man strokes down Seth's rigid back. What would Finn do if he's here? “I'm not mad about anything, kid,” Joe assures him. “You did nothing other than bringing me to Tyler's attention. You were polite and sweet, taking care of that damned dog, and you're behaving well now.”

Seth lifts his head and looks around at Joe. The tension in his back and shoulders ease. “I... I am?”

“You are,” the older man says, smiling, and pets Seth's rear end. The young man shifts his thighs, and tenses up again, forcing himself to remain motionless. “You were the one who wanted to be disciplined alongside our princess, weren’t you?”

Tyler huffs, propping his chin on Joe’s shoulder. “You’re mean, Daddy.”

“I am. What are you gonna do about it?” Joe asks, one eyebrow raising. Tyler smirks and snuggles into his shoulder. To Seth, Joe adds, “This isn’t a punishment for you, Seth. It’s a reward for good behavior. You’re overthinking this.” He smooths his large hand over the young man’s ass. “Relax for me, hmm? Show me how good you can be for Daddy.”

With a slight shiver, Seth relaxes. He even closes his eyes, and the tension bleeds out of his form.

 _Remarkable how well he responds to praise_. Joe keeps stroking down Seth’s spine, and combs through his long hair, fluffing it up on purpose. “Ready for the rest? And feel free to squirm, pet. It's cute.”

The young man bites his lower lip and nods. And he does squirm and wiggle with every smack, delighting Joe no end. It's an endearing thing, seeing how Seth's lowered a little more of his defenses. Joe makes sure to tell Seth he's very pleased with him, that he's been good for Joe; the young man practically glows and has to hide his face in Tyler's neck. Tyler is delighted and hugs back, cuddling the younger man and kissing his cheeks.

“I'm going home,” Joe says, kissing Tyler and petting Seth on the head. “Drop by the bar later if you're both up to it.”

“Yes sir.” Seth steals a glance, and it's _mischievous_ , the little doe-eyed imp. Joe narrows his eyes like he's annoyed, and Seth amends it to “Yes, Daddy.”

 _Kid has spirit. He and Tyler are going to be absolute menaces._ Joe snorts softly through his nose and pinches Seth’s cheek before rubbing his thumb over the scruff of the young man’s chin. Then he turns his attention to Tyler. “Finn would have told you what you needed to hear,” he says quietly, “but I want you to remember that the right guy will come around eventually. You’re a spoiled brat who just needs a firm hand is all. Don’t fret too much over whatever that shithead did.”

“Okay, Daddy,” says Tyler, looking suspiciously dewy-eyed.

“Now you take care of Seth,” he adds, with a little squeeze to Tyler’s knee. “Finn worries.” He knows that mentioning Finn will remind the blond not to try anything on Seth. Prerogative and all that.

“I will,” Tyler promises, a pensive smile curving his lips as he tugs Seth closer. “We’re best friends now.”

“Yes you will, nosy brat.” Joe kisses him again, then warns Tyler in a private whisper to start looking for a new security guy. The blond looks resigned but he nods in understanding. Joe leaves from the back door to call a ride from a different street. (Old habits die hard.) When he checks his phone, it's exploded with almost two dozen messages. Joe just grins at Finn’s bitching on his way back.

 _‘If you're so upset about it,’_ he texts the Irishman, _'then stop being a wuss and do something already.’_

 _'fuck u’_ is the immediate response, but within the next second, Finn asks, _'he really is OK with it?’_

 _‘Yes, he is, you mother hen. Praise works. Tyler's with him now. They're bonding.’_ Joe thinks about how pretty they look, light and dark together, and smiles, genuinely pleased by the development.

And he has Mustafa to look forward to knowing better. Life is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Jin.  
> Hope you read the tags this time


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Finn counts his favors, Dana gives advice, Cedric thinks about fighting Michelle Obama, and Tyler opens up a little.

It’s been a whole day, but Finn can’t stop looking at the photo that Joe sent of Seth and Tyler kneeling, side by side. Tyler, as always, looked eager and cheerful (Finn is glad - the blond did take the breakup hard, but he also knew how to get himself out of a post-breakup funk) while Seth’s doe eyes were wide with apprehension. His thighs appeared thick and absolutely sinful in the tight, black jeans, and his soft, trimmed beard framed his mouth perfectly. If only Finn could have been there to admire for himself.

He closes the photo app when Jericho returns to his office. The lawyer sits and hands a silver bullet to him. The number on the side of the bullet is scratched out. “You’ve called in that favor with Mr Austin, so from now on, if you want anything done over the south border, you’ll have to renegotiate. Just FYI, the Deadman and his brother are not too pleased about this development. You're lucky they're semi-retired.”

“I expected that,” Finn remarks. “I doubt I will need to negotiate with Steve about anything. How many favors do I have remaining that I can call on?”

“Owens and Zayn each hold one, the Flairs have one, Mr Regal sends his regards and says he will pass the favor on to a young man called Devlin-”

“Devlin? That’s lovely.” Finn is genuinely glad. Devlin is the youngest and smartest of Regal’s boys, the heir to the old dom’s empire of connections, if Regal goes through with his retirement. Finn’s trained Devlin himself too, just a month or so when Finn visited his mentor. “Who else?”

“The Kings held one, but I don’t know if your restaurant stunt counts as a favor or not.”

Finn shakes his head. “Nah, I paid for that booking. Mann and Barrett are holding one still.”

“So that’s the fifth accounted for then.” Jericho laces up his fingers and studies the Irishman. “That’s not a lot of favors for a long life ahead, Finn.”

“The trouble of going legit, Mr Jericho, is that I have to learn to do things the hard way,” says Finn in a measured tone. His fingers draw a straight line over the tabletop. The easy way would have been to seduce Seth as soon as he was free of Hunter. The hard way... Well. The hard way meant giving Seth enough freedom to make his own choices, and pray to the gods above and demons below that Seth will choose Finn. “Getting from point A to B in a straight line is as best as I can hope for.”

Jericho smiles. “It’s a good thing you’re rich. I find that money smooths the way really well.”

“It really does,” Finn admits readily, “though not everything can be purchased.” He thinks about the photo, of Seth submitting to Joe, and fights down the bitter tang of jealousy.

_Fuck Joe._

***

“So, my rainbow candy sprinkles,” Dana practically dances over to Mustafa after he gets back from his afternoon prayers, “how was your date?”

Remembering his clumsiness, Mustafa’s face falls. “It sucked.”

The blonde’s face falls dramatically. “Oh no, was he a jerk? Don’t worry, Auntie Dana will find you a good one.”

“Oh, no, not him. Joe was... nice.” Mustafa feels his cheeks growing warm. “We bumped into a friend of his and, uh, long story short, I spilled coffee on myself and had to cut the date short.”

Dana sighs and rolls her eyes. “Let me guess. You didn’t invite him to your place so you could change out of your shirt and coincidentally show off that lean, trim bod?”

“Wh- I-I couldn’t... It was our first date!”

“Yeah, Dana, it was his first time out with that Joe guy,” Cedric butts in. “And given that it was a _disaster_ , I’m sure there won’t be a second date.”

Dana looks outraged. She slaps her hand on top of the desk, making both of them jump. “Moose, tell me there _is_ a second date. Because if there isn’t, I am marching you down to _Samoa Joe’s_ and will set you up with him right the fuck now.”

Cedric tugs on Mustafa’s wrist and drags him back to their desks. “There is absolutely no need for that, Dana, Moose is all good now that he’s got that man out of his system-”

“We’re set for a second date,” Mustafa says, pulling free of Cedric’s grip. “Titus and I swapped shifts for Saturday so he can attend his kids’ baseball game and I can have dinner with Joe.”

Dana beams and playfully punches Mustafa on his bicep. “Attaboy. Dinner can lead to dessert and _that_ can lead to breakfast, if you play your cards right. Auntie Dana is rooting for you. Call me if you need help. And quit your gawping, Ced, you should be happy our precinct’s Beauty has found his Beast.”

“That’s _exactly_ why I’m not happy!” Cedric sputters.

Dana laughs and shakes her head. Before she can interject, someone yells across the bullpen for her attention, and she leaves the two best friends alone.

Cedric lowers his voice. “Moose, you don’t _know_ him. What if he’s an ax murderer? A serial killer? _A_ _neo-Nazi?”_

Mustafa sighs. “Ced. That’s what dates are for. To get to know someone. Plus, he met us while we were working. He knows I'm a cop, and a murderer wouldn’t try to date a policeman, that’d be _really_ dumb. Plus, I can protect myself. Also, he saved me from being crushed by a mob of fans-”

“You have fans? What am I saying, of course you have fans, every time I post a pic of you on Instagram the likes shoot way up. When? How?”

“Not mine. Joe’s friend,” Mustafa says, then whispers, “Tyler Breeze. They’re kinda close, I think? Tyler’s the one who introduced him to that hipster coffee place we pass by all the time. His fans mobbed him and I was caught in the crossfire. Joe got me out.”

Cedric kneads the bridge of his nose, his lips pressed tightly together. Eventually, he says, “Moose, there is _no way_ a ‘regular guy’ who runs a ‘regular bar’-” he uses air quotes “-is close friends someone like Tyler Breeze. That’s Bizarro logic, not Earth logic. Something’s fishy here. Also, none of that disproves that Joe isn’t a mass murderer or a Republican. Or both.”

Mustafa squints at him. “Are you saying Tyler Breeze is a snob? Because he was really sweet and very cute in person. Shorter than I thought - and that _ass_ in those jeans, what a blessing - but really nice. Even when his fans turned a little rowdy, he was all smiles.”

The black man slaps his forehead. “No! I’m not- This isn’t about Tyler Breeze! Moose, I don’t want you _killed_ just because you got a hankering for some bad boy dick.”

“Stop insinuating that Joe is a criminal, Ced. It’s really rude.” Mustafa knows he’s pouting, just a little bit; his pouts always get Cedric to back down. (Knowing the power of his pouts, Mustafa tends to use them sparingly, lest Cedric develops immunity to them. This is the ‘I’m Disappointed In You Because You Know Better’ Pout Number 12.) “And it’s not merely physical attraction. I really do want to know him better as a person.”

As expected, Cedric eases off the pressure. “Okay, okay. Fine. A second _first date_ since you didn’t get to really have a proper first date.” He walks away, muttering something about _“Michelle doesn’t have hand-to-hand training, I bet”_ and is called aside by a detective.

Shaking his head, Mustafa goes to get something from the vending machine and bumps into Dana. She grins at him and winks. “So what are your plans for your dinner date?”

“Um, food, chitchat a little, maybe have some drinks after?” Mustafa chews nervously on his lower lip. “It sounds boring when I say it out loud.”

Dana smiles at him with a touch of pity. “Aww, sunshine, it’s not about the program but what you _do_.”

“Huh?”

Pushing him into a chair, the woman takes a seat opposite him. “Lots of coy eye contact, like this.” She demonstrates, peering up through her eyelashes, wearing a half-smile. “Lots of skin contact - nothing slutty, just fingers brushing over his hand or wrist, or maybe your foot accidentally-on-purpose nudging his. If he responds positively, and you’ll notice, leave your foot there. If not, draw it back, and you can call it a night.”

Mustafa blushes. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to flirt, but he doesn’t do it on _purpose_ , not planned the way Dana is showing him. “But... if he responds _positively_... It’s only the second date. Or the second _first_ date, since we’ve not actually had our first date. I don’t want it to just be about, um... you know.”

“You sweet innocent mooseberry,” Dana coos. “You really shouldn’t get too hung up on when it’s the right time to _‘you know’_ with someone.” She leans in with a wicked smirk. “You want him, don’t ya? I saw that look he gave you and the way you smiled at your phone the other day.”

Shyly, Mustafa nods. The only other person he can talk about dating guys with is his sister, and she’s currently too busy with her infant twins to pay attention to her baby brother.

Dana tilts her head, a smug grin on her pretty face. “Then go get your man, you little honey caramel latte. I know you can turn on that sex appeal when you want to. And tell me all about it after.”

***

Tyler has missed having a best friend. He’s currently tucked against Seth, the latter intent on completing some readings for his drafting course, while he himself is going over his fan mail and replying to them. A stack of signed photos sits on the side, some of which will need personalizing.

“I’m hungry,” he announces.

Seth puts down his iPad. “I can make you a grilled cheese sandwich?”

Tyler smiles up at him. “That’d be nice.” Then he frowns. “Can you teach me how to make one?”

That is how Tyler finds himself in a plain blue apron, learning the ins and outs of how to take care of a cast iron pan and how to gauge when it is hot enough, as well as a short discussion on the pairings of cheese and bread. Seth in the meantime makes tomato soup.

It’s a simple lunch, but Tyler bursts with pride when he first bites into the first sandwich he’s ever made and it’s actually _tasty_. “How stupid am I that I never learned how to cook all my adult life?” he asks, licking his fingers clean of cheese.

“You never had to learn, so I don’t think that counts as a sign of stupidity.” Seth shrugs. “How stupid am _I_ that I don’t know the difference between Vans and Converse, or Gucci and Valentino?”

“Fashion is pointless,” Tyler says dismissively. “Superficial and not helpful to anyone. I enjoy it, I like putting looks together, but it’s not something that benefits the world, you know? I mean, I’m shallow, so it suits me, but I’d want to have some skills to help others.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Tyler asks.

Seth leans on his forearms across the counter. “You put yourself down all the time. When you broke up, you called yourself clingy and attention-seeking, and now you say you’re shallow. But you’re not. You care about people and you’re sweet, even when you’re inconvenienced or annoyed. That’s hard to do.”

Flushing, Tyler looks at his empty bowl. After a while, he says, “I don’t know. My own family... Do you know who I am? I mean, outside of me being a celebrity.”

“Not really.” Seth clears the counter and washes the dishes by hand.

“Breeze isn’t my real surname.” Tyler fidgets with his fingers. “My family is rich. Like, billionaire-rich. They’ve been rich for many generations - they practically invented washing machines and detergents.”

Though he does glance over his shoulder, Seth doesn’t pause in doing the dishes. “You’re not close to your family,” he says. “You said _they_ , not _we_.”

“Are you Sherlocking me?” Tyler demands.

“Kinda.” Seth grins at him. “Come help dry the dishes.” When the blond is next to him, Seth adds, “Why are you telling me about your family, Ty?”

Tyler exhales and his lips curve in an ironic smile. “I came out to them in uni. They told me to either attend conversion therapy or stay away from the family business, stay away from home. They don’t want me back there where I will embarrass them by being gay.” He sighs. “That’s why I live here in LA. Mother got me my house and I was told to stay here among ‘people like me’. The sex tape scandal only solidified the fact that I’m a shame to my family.”

“What?” Outraged, Seth flings the hand towel he is using onto the counter. “What the fuck? Ty, that’s nonsense.” His large eyes are snapping with rage. “Shit, Tyler, I’m so sorry. Your family is made up of dicks.”

Tyler’s lower lip wobbles and he shrugs. “I guess? I just... I mean, if even my own family doesn’t want me home, and I can’t keep a guy, there must be something wrong with me. Or maybe everything is wrong with me.”

“Ty, that’s not true.” The younger man looks upset and he hugs Tyler, tucking the blond’s face against his shoulder and kissing the side of his head. “Your family is the _worst_ if they made you believe you’ve nothing good in you. You’re one of the best people I know.”

Hugging Seth back, Tyler sniffs. “Sorry. I made us sad.” He takes a deep, bracing breath, and leans back, smiling up at Seth in his most winning, red-carpet-ready way. “Alright. Cheer me up. Tell me something about yourself.”

Seth frowns, lips pursed in an adorable way, and then brightens. “Gimme a sec.” He jogs out of the kitchen and Tyler goes to the dining room to admire the view. Finn’s penthouse is even more expensive than Tyler’s mansion, but that’s the price for being in the heart of the city. Tyler’s considered getting a unit here, but he knows that if he lives near Finn, he’d always want Finn’s company, and he’d make the same mistake of being too clingy, and that might annoy the older man so much that he stops seeing Tyler altogether.

After Finn’s kindness all these years, Tyler doesn’t want to lose him. He knows Finn is interested in Seth - he’s noticed the way Finn looks at Seth, how Finn wants to keep Seth to himself; even Daddy Joe has remarked on it in his own way - but he’s okay with not being Finn’s favorite. He just wants to be _one_ of the Irishman’s favorites.

When Tyler first went to Tokyo, after the sex tape first broke and every single paparazzo was hunting him, his guide discreetly brought him to the Club after he indicated he wanted someplace private where he could forget everything. Finn was imposingly sexy, yet incredibly understanding and gentle. About ten minutes into their scene, Tyler had broken down crying wildly, unable to even utter his safeword; Finn had held him and comforted him. That night, still emotionally wrung out, Tyler had contemplated how many sleeping pills he should take; he’d received a call right then from Finn, telling the blond to stay with him until Finn was certain Tyler was not caught in a drop.

He hugs himself. Finn will take very good care of Seth, who is one of the sweetest subs Tyler has ever met. He’s glad that Seth has escaped from Hunter. There are some subs who like humiliation and pain, and all power to them, but Hunter’s reputation of taking whoever grabs his fancy instead of giving subs the choice makes him a predator, not a dom; the few horror stories of Hunter visiting some clubs to trawl for inexperienced young men have scared Tyler from ever crossing that man’s path.

Seth soon returns with a photo. “Promise me you won’t make fun of me.”

Tyler grins wickedly. “Can’t guarantee that.”

The younger man narrows his eyes, but hands over the photo anyway. He’s in the middle of the picture, with a big, tall, brawny guy on his left, and a sandy blond guy on the right with a barely-suppressed sneer masquerading as a smile.

“That’s Roman, and this is Dean,” Seth tells him. “They were my best friends since junior high. Well, Dean was, and then I met Roman. He was my gay awakening.”

“Well, he’s cute, but he looks uptight, but that’s not what I wanna ask.” Giggling, Tyler points at Seth’s face in the photo. “What were you _thinking?”_

Seth’s ears flame red. “I thought it’d be different is all.”

“Half blond? And you were such a _twink_ , oh my god,” Tyler teases. “ _Look_ at you! So skinny! Did you wax yourself or something? Are you _still_ hairless? Oh my god I wanna see now-” He tries to yank Seth’s tee shirt up, but Seth escapes.

Seth grabs a spatula. “You will never take me alive!” he shouts, and takes off running.

Tyler gives chase, photo in one hand, while Seth evades him as best as he can. The blond finally corners him in the guest suite and _jumps_ across the bed to grab hold of Seth, both of them laughing like ten-year-old boys, Seth’s laugh a dumb, annoying _cackle_ , which makes Tyler giggle so hard he gets hiccups.

The two lie on their backs on the carpet to catch their breaths. Then Tyler rolls on his side and tugs Seth’s tee up so he can see the latter’s belly. There is a nice fuzzy happy trail. Seth’s laughter dies, and his cheeks glow pinker. Tyler pulls Seth’s shirt up further and admires the line of his abs, the pert nipples, the curly chest hair.

“You’re very pretty,” he tells Seth, brushing dark hair from large doe eyes.

Seth licks his lips. “So are you.”

“We’ve both very pretty,” Tyler agrees, and leans down to kiss him. Seth opens his mouth willingly, and his hands reach under Tyler’s shirt. They’re warmer than Tyler’s skin and so hesitant as they explore up the expanse of the older man’s back. Tyler murmurs, “Nothing below the belt, okay?”

“Okay,” Seth says. The two lose themselves to touch and taste, kissing and kissing and _kissing,_ until they are both out of breath, their legs tangling and hips grinding lightly against each other. When Tyler finds himself getting a little too aroused, he pulls away, rolling on his back, and stares at the ceiling, breathing heavily. Seth does the same, but his fingers reach for Tyler’s hand, and they hold hands until they recover their composure.

Tyler turns his head and smiles at Seth. “That was really stupid hair, by the way.”

“Shut up.” But there’s nothing malicious or angry in the younger man’s tone at all.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Mustafa goes on a date.

Saturday comes around faster than Mustafa likes. He opts for a royal blue shirt this time, hoping that he won’t be spilled on. The restaurant isn’t too far from his apartment so he gets there early; he doesn’t want Joe to wait a second time. However, when he reaches _Usman’s_ , he spies a familiar profile.

Annoyed, Mustafa storms right in. “Cedric Alexander, what are you doing here?”

Cedric looks up with the _most insincere_ look of surprise. “I am having my dinner.”

“It’s Saturday. You always have dinner at Mama's unless you’re dating.”

“Well, sometimes it’s good to break with routine,” Cedric says blandly.

Mustafa almost snarls, but then he notices that Joe has arrived and is waiting outside the door. Glaring once again at Cedric, Mustafa hurries out and jogs over to Joe. “Hey. I got here early.”

“Hey.” Joe gives him a slow once-over that makes the back of Mustafa’s neck feel warm and tingly. “You look _very_ nice. Blue is your color.”

“So do you. You look great too.” He didn’t intend his voice to come out quite so breathy, but Joe smiles, relaxed and amused, so Mustafa counts that as a win. And wow, how is it that Mustafa hasn't noticed Joe's dimples? He looks _edible_ in a dove-gray sports coat over a black shirt and dark jeans. Mustafa tries not to think about unbuttoning the shirt, or kissing the dimples. Then he remembers that _Cedric_ is inside, and is probably already observing them. Irritation spikes through him. He’s not _twelve_ any more, crushing hard on David Henderson who was a notorious flirt with all the girls, nor is he the gangly, pimply fifteen-year-old being the target of the bullies in the school.

Joe tilts his head quizzically. “We’re not going in?”

“Actually,” says Mustafa, feeling rebellious and daring for a change, “I wondered if you’d be okay coming to my place to have the meal. We can order the food to go and then just, I don’t know, find something on Netflix. I'd feel more relaxed than in a crowded family restaurant and we can really talk.”

He notices Joe raising his eyebrows and he quickly puts up his hands. “I don’t have any ulterior motive!” he squeaks.

Joe’s smile turns a little devilish. “That’s a shame.”

 _Holy shit. Is he hinting- Stop that train of thought, Mustafa Ali. Dinner. Just dinner and a movie and... Well. We’ll see._ The young policeman licks his lips nervously - Joe’s gaze flicks to his mouth - and he takes Joe’s hand to lead him inside. The other man’s palm is warm and comforting. They walk past Cedric, Joe noticing his presence, but Mustafa pointedly ignores his best friend, and they go to the counter.

Joe frowns at some of the dishes, so Mustafa keeps to those he knows are crowd pleasers. Chicken tikka, a whole tandoori platter, masala fries, and a cucumber raita. They wait around for the food to be ready, Mustafa stubbornly holding on to Joe’s hand knowing that Cedric is watching, and Joe seems content to stand close to him. If Mustafa is a little more shameless, he’d press himself against the big man, bury his nose against that thick neck and try to detect what kind of aftershave or cologne he uses, if he uses any.

Perhaps his intentions come across too clearly in his face, because Joe leans in and murmurs into Mustafa’s ear, “Why is your partner here and trying to stare me to death?”

Mustafa can _feel_ Joe’s breath and even the brush of his lips on his ear. He thinks he can be fuel for the tandoor oven right now, he’s so _hot_.

“Because he is an overprotective asshole who thinks I’m still a kid,” Mustafa replies, distracted. Even this close, he can’t really smell anything other than a light, masculine musk, and then he realizes that Joe doesn’t wear any artificial scent. It shouldn’t make him weak at the knees, but it _does_ , because Mustafa has endured all kinds of body sprays and fragrances in his dating life, and none have turned him on like this.

Maybe it’s just Joe.

Their order is finally complete and Mustafa pays for it before Joe can even retrieve his wallet. Joe takes all of the bags with a pointed look, but he’s also smiling, so Mustafa just grins and leads the way out. He tosses a sharp glare at Cedric as they pass, once again. They’ll fight about it tomorrow but that’s fine by Mustafa; he is going to tell his best friend to back the fuck off.

***

Mustafa has not thought this move through. His apartment is not _messy_ per se, but it is lived in. He has books and worn tees on the couch, there's some washing up left in the sink, dust on the coffee table, and he’s quite certain the TV remote is somewhere in the cushions. His tiny dining table is piled high with books, folders from workshops, and half a jigsaw puzzle that he is putting together for his sister's birthday. He feels a little embarrassed by the condition of his small apartment, but Joe only smiles and toes off his shoes when asked. He puts the takeout on the coffee table while Mustafa rushes to rinse his plates and utensils.

By mutual agreement, they have dinner in the tiny living room, side by side on the couch, but they don't put on a movie. Joe asks questions about Mustafa's family (parents used to live in LA, moved to Chicago, and are currently in Pakistan to be with his ailing grandfather; sister is married and living in San Diego; he visits his nephews and niece whenever he can get a weekend off) and his hobbies (reading, obviously, as well as basketball). Mustafa learns that Joe has traveled around the world working in bars as a bouncer, a barkeeper, and the one he owns now is something of a boyhood dream. They then talk about everything else - the latest thriller Mustafa’s reading, Joe’s favorite drinking place in the world (“There used to be a club in Tokyo that I visit. Good friends, great company. The founder and I have known each other for over a decade.”), and music they enjoy. They don’t always agree, but they do have similar tastes.

Mustafa _likes_ Joe. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s laughed at Joe’s comments while they debate the merits of certain bands, while Joe plays him some of his favorites; it feels like a _proper_ date, not just two guys having takeout in his living room, and the butterflies in his belly are going wild whenever their knees or their thighs come into contact, or when Joe looks at him with that little half-smile. It’s reassuring, because he has worried that he can’t remember if he’s done that coy glance thing Dana was going on about, or if he’s touched Joe’s hands, and his right foot has been pressed next to Joe’s left all night. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s clear they’re both very interested in each other.

When they’re both finished, leftovers tucked back into the containers, Mustafa rises, gathering up their plates and silverware. “I’ll just be a minute,” he tells Joe and moves toward the kitchen, hurriedly putting their dishes into the sink.

As he turns around, he nearly collides with Joe. “Whoa, you’re quiet on your feet,” he blurts out, steadying himself with his hands on the other man’s chest. One of Joe’s hands is on his hip, the other is holding his water glass, and Mustafa’s breath catches in his throat when he notices just how close they’re standing.

Joe’s lips curl, and Mustafa’s stomach flips, desire swirling low in his belly. “I thought cops were supposed to be more observant,” he teases, voice deep and amused, his hand squeezing Mustafa’s hip as he shifts to set his glass on the counter behind Mustafa.

“I’m off-duty,” Mustafa retorts, but his attention is on the way the older man is pressing against his thigh _just enough_ to drive him crazy with want. He wants to say something else, but meets Joe’s dark, direct gaze, and promptly forgets everything he was going to say. His mouth goes dry and he licks his lips, trying to remember how to form words, and abruptly surges forward to kiss Joe.

The other man is still for only a moment before his lips are moving with Mustafa’s, one big arm wrapping low around Mustafa’s waist, their hips nudging, and _god,_ Mustafa hears himself whimper, feels more than hears Joe’s rumbling chuckle. “Easy there,” Joe tells him, pulling back from the kiss, remaining close enough for their lips to brush as he speaks, their breaths mingling. Mustafa is panting, but Joe doesn’t seem to be out of breath at all.

It takes a long moment for Mustafa to get his breath, for his brain to catch up. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, his cheeks hot.

“Don’t be sorry,” Joe murmurs, a thumb swiping slowly over Mustafa’s lower lip. “I didn’t say I’m not enjoying myself.” He kisses Mustafa again, a light pressure of their mouths together, and adds, “We do have the whole night, however, so there’s no rush.” As if to illustrate his point, he gently walks Mustafa back into the counter, and _lifts_ him like he weighs nothing to sit him there.

At that simple display of strength, Mustafa lets out an embarrassing noise, a sort of _whine_ and whimper. “Right,” he pants out. “The whole night.” He isn’t certain he’ll make it the next few minutes, but sure, the _whole night._ Joe laughs again and both of his hands lift to cup Mustafa’s face, tipping his head back to urge him to look directly into Joe’s eyes, dark and intent.

“So,” he says, his nose nudging playfully against Mustafa’s, a light kiss pressing to the corner of the younger man’s mouth. “We can take all the time we want.” One big hand goes to the back of Mustafa’s head, slides to cup the nape of his neck. “Get to know one another.” Teeth pull at Mustafa’s lower lip, a tongue swiping over the small hurt immediately after. “Have _fun._ ”

Mustafa’s heart practically flips at the promising sound of that. His hands creep over Joe’s shoulders and his fingers weave into dark curls, eliciting a low, dirty _growl_. The young man’s thighs spread wider and he curls his ankles behind Joe to tug him in (as if he _can_ direct this big man anywhere he doesn’t want to go), and Joe obliges. His other arm cages Mustafa against himself, and Mustafa fights against it for a second; he’s almost alarmed at how excited he is that he _can’t_ break free easily.

“Before we go any further,” Joe murmurs, hot breath at Mustafa’s ear, “I want you to know that if you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I want both of us to enjoy this.”

A warm feeling, like hot water being poured down his back, tingles up Mustafa’s spine, but there’s a niggle of concern - a voice that sounds like Cedric’s (and doesn’t that just bring him crashing back to reality a little) screaming at him. “I don’t- I’m-” He takes a minute, his forehead pressing firmly to Joe’s shoulder. “Why would I want to stop?” His eyes are closed, his lips parted, and he feels Joe’s hand, the one that isn’t gripping his waist, smoothing up and down his back, nails scratching gently.

Joe pulls back and waits until Mustafa is looking at him again. “For any reason, baby,” he says; the endearment makes Mustafa’s breath catch a little. “Maybe you feel uncomfortable on the counter. Maybe I’m going too fast for you. Maybe you need to sneeze. Any reason. And if it makes you feel better, this goes both ways.”

His hand on Mustafa’s back doesn’t stop and the caressing is slowly and steadily driving the younger man _wild_. Mustafa nods. “Okay. Okay, yeah, that works for me. Now can we get back to the part where we’re kissing?”

Grinning, Joe doesn’t go back to kissing him on the mouth. Instead, he starts with Mustafa’s earlobe, pulling lightly on it with his lips and teasing with the tip of his tongue. Mustafa whimpers and turns his face, sucking on the nearest patch of skin where he can reach, and then the big man licks _into_ Mustafa’s ear, and it’s the _strangest_ sensation he’s ever felt.

“Stop, stop,” Mustafa gasps, almost giggling from the ticklish assault.

To his surprise, Joe stops immediately and gives Mustafa some space. He’s smiling, so he’s obviously not annoyed at having to halt. Mustafa swallows, realizing that Joe just wants to reassure him that they won’t go any further than he wants to. Mirth fades away, replaced by awed desire; he cups Joe’s face and reels him in, leading the kiss this time, and his legs curl around Joe as best as he can from the countertop. Joe’s lips are soft, and he is an expert kisser, teasing Mustafa with licks and nibbles before sucking on Mustafa’s tongue in his mouth, releasing it only to follow into the younger man’s own mouth to explore him.

Joe’s palms settle on Mustafa’s hips, flexing, squeezing firmly, his thumbs slipping under the hem of Mustafa’s shirt, brushing over heated skin. Mustafa shivers, his eyes rolling back at the contact, and Joe nips his bottom lip once again before he breaks the kiss, his hands on Mustafa’s waist now, under his shirt, inching it up. “Alright?”

“Yeah, yes, please,” Mustafa babbles, his fingers gripping tighter at Joe’s hair, guiding him back into a clumsy kiss this time. Joe’s laughter shakes them both as he retracts his hands and moves to unbutton the shirt, slowly and methodically.

It’s a great idea, losing the shirts. Drawing away from the kiss, Mustafa mimics him, but his fingers can’t seem to grasp the concept of unbuttoning shirts, as if he doesn’t wear uniforms with buttons _every fucking day_ , damn it-

“Baby, it’s alright, take it easy,” Joe croons, already done with the other man’s shirt and running his hands over newly-exposed skin, further derailing Mustafa’s concentration. He pulls the shirt down and Mustafa has to struggle to get free of the sleeves.

“I’m-” It’s _frustrating,_ the way Joe is seemingly unaffected by their position, his breathing steady and his fingers as smooth as ever. “I’m _trying;_ it’s-”

Joe cups Mustafa’s face again, his voice deep and low as he tells Mustafa, “You’re okay, baby.” His thumbs brush softly over Mustafa’s cheekbones, his eyes dark. “Just let Daddy take care of you.”

Mustafa’s stomach lurches, his breath catches, his pulse _jumps_. “I-” His mouth is dry, his tongue heavy, refusing to allow him to speak. “You-”

“That’s right, baby,” murmurs Joe, his lips, wet with their saliva, curling into a gentle smile. “Daddy can help you. All you’ve got to do is ask.”

“Ask?” Mustafa licks his lips, uncertain, and his fingers curl on Joe’s shirt. He can feel the heat of the older man beneath the heels of his palms. Joe doesn’t move, just stays close, his smile inviting. Mustafa bites his lower lip and then whispers, “Please, d-Daddy. Help me.”

He thinks he’s about to combust, he’s never felt so acutely aware of the lust coiling through his entire _body_. He’s always wanted to say that, but he’s never been comfortable enough with his partners to _try_ it without feeling foolish; Joe’s got him calling him Daddy and they’re not even completely _naked_ yet, and it’s simultaneously the hottest, the most embarrassing, and the most natural thing to do.

Probably taking pity on Mustafa’s mortification, Joe strokes a firm hand down the center of the younger man’s torso, before gently coaxing him to put his hands on Joe’s waist while he unbuttons his own shirt.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it, baby?” Joe’s lips are crooked again, his tone holding some amusement, but Mustafa doesn’t feel like he’s being made fun of. “I’m proud of you for asking for help.” His shirt comes off, the older man carefully folding it and placing it on the counter beside him while Mustafa’s chest expands, his heart beating too quickly, a wave of pleasure rising in him at Joe’s words. Joe is hefty, a light dusting of hair over his chest and belly; not sculpted like bodybuilders but deliciously _thick_ all over, like those Turkish wrestlers who are built to throw people around. The younger man wants to put his mouth _everywhere_ , there is so much of Joe he can explore. Large hands, warm and comforting, settle over his thighs, then slide upward, framing Mustafa’s erection, thick fingers teasing at the button of his pants.

Mustafa’s pulse flutters, this time with nervousness. “Wait, I-I don’t-”

Joe pauses. “You want to stop?” he asks, without a hint of annoyance in his tone, merely mild concern.

Mustafa shakes his head. “No, not stopping, but, um. Kitchen. The, uh, the bedroom. Bed.” He’s not making sense - why is he not making sense? - but Joe understands him well enough.

“Hang on tight, baby,” the big man says, flashing a wicked grin, and hauls Mustafa off the counter. Mustafa yelps, then laughs with delight, clinging on for dear life while Joe carries him in the direction of the one bedroom. Joe walks right in, kicking the door closed, and drops the younger man onto the bed. “Here we are.”

Another bubble of laughter rises, smile bright on Mustafa’s face. “Yeah,” he breathes, finally able to trail his eyes fully over Joe for the first time since Mustafa started it all, taking full advantage of it while Joe remains standing at the foot of the bed, his own gaze heavy with lust as he stares right back at Mustafa. “I, um-” Gesturing vaguely at the nightstand, Mustafa says, “Everything’s in there,” feeling a little foolish, and feeling a lot eager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just part one. :)  
> Comment, y'all.
> 
> Also, unrelated: FUCK YEAH BIG DOG BEAT CANCER


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Joe and Mustafa have ... fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, y'all.

Joe is charmed beyond measure by Mustafa’s inexperienced excitement. He’s older than when Finn first met Joe, but Mustafa is much, much more innocent than Finn was. Joe goes to the nightstand and, on Mustafa’s nod, pulls open the first drawer. Lube, condoms, and he spies a toy in there that he leaves untouched _._ It'll keep for another day.

When he turns back to the bed, supplies in hand, Mustafa is already trying to wriggle out of his pants. Joe narrows his eyes, pretending to be disappointed. “Baby, I told you, Daddy will take care of you.”

Mustafa’s eyes go a little wide, but he retorts (with more confidence than before, Joe is pleased to discover, though still a little shy), “You were busy; I was only helping.”

“Oh? You were helping? Why don’t you come a little closer and help me with _my_ pants?” Joe teases lightly - it’s too soon for any kind of punishment, though they will have to have that talk if this progresses to something more than a one night stand - and is pleased when Mustafa kicks off his pants and scoots over. He’s more assured and assertive now that he’s in his own space, the tip of his tongue peeking from between his teeth as he carefully unbuckles Joe’s belt and slides it from the loops, rolling it up neatly to hand it to Joe. The older man strokes over Mustafa’s hair. “Good boy.” Mustafa _shivers_ and his blush spreads from his cheeks down. Oh, Joe is going to _enjoy_ this night, learning this beautiful young man’s body.

Slender fingers pluck at the button of Joe’s pants, fumbling slightly, his ears turning red now; Joe hums softly and smooths his hand over sleek, dark hair again, petting Mustafa. “Take your time, baby.” The smaller man furrows his brow, his tongue back between his teeth as he focuses and finally succeeds, then peers up at Joe through his lashes, his fingers pausing at Joe’s zipper - and _oh,_ if this were any other night than the _first,_ Joe would grip the dark hair, put his thumb between those pouty lips, watch the way they close around it, enjoy the hot tongue flicking over it, imagine how skillful it will be elsewhere-

As it is, Joe wants the night to be about Mustafa, about _both_ of them. He waits, staring down at the other man, the long lashes making the innocent gaze downright _sultry,_ until Mustafa moves, his thumb and index finger grasping the zipper tab, the warmth of his hand adding to the burning heat of Joe’s erection, and begins slowly tugging it down, brow still furrowed in concentration. Joe keeps his breathing steady, a practice he’s perfected over the years, and murmurs, his palm heavy on Mustafa’s crown, “That’s it, baby.”

Mustafa pauses, the zipper only partly down, the cleft in his brow deepening. Joe is about to ask if everything is okay when the young man leans in and takes the tab with his teeth to drag the zipper down completely, before he nuzzles the older man's covered cock. While Joe is still blinking with astonishment, Mustafa tugs on his pants and the older man steps out of his clothes, his thick erection evident in his briefs.

“Holy... I want that in me like _yesterday_ ,” Mustafa murmurs, almost in a daze, his hands skimming up Joe’s thighs. His eyes dart up to Joe’s face and the shyness returns almost instantly. He drops his hands to his own lap, as if that will hide how eager he is. Joe tilts Mustafa’s face up and kisses him, softly at first and then deepening as he puts a knee on the bed, then the other, crowding Mustafa back. They navigate the expanse of the queen-sized mattress carefully, keeping knees and elbows out of each other’s way, until Joe is looming over Mustafa where they are sprawled diagonally across the sheets.

Mustafa’s thighs frame Joe’s hips, his hands going to Joe’s shoulders. He looks fucking _breathtaking_ like this - eyes soft, cheeks and neck and torso pink with the fading blush, lips parted, chest heaving - _all because of Joe._ He draws back, Mustafa’s hands falling to the mattress, up near his head, and shifts until he’s between the younger man’s knees. The condom and lube are placed beside Mustafa’s hip, and Joe’s hands move to the bottom of Mustafa’s boxer-briefs. “Okay?” he takes the time to ask, lifting a brow at the other man, stilling completely but for the small swipes the pads of his thumbs are making over Mustafa’s quivering inner thighs.

“Yeah. Yes,” replies Mustafa quickly.

Joe decides to tease him a bit, leaning to press a soft kiss to his knee. “‘Yes, what,’ baby?”

Mustafa flushes again, turning his face a little shyly, eyes flicking to the ceiling. He whispers, “Yes, Daddy.” Now that he’s practically nude, Joe can _see_ the effect the word has on him, the way his cock twitches, his stomach heaves; Joe can feel the jump of Mustafa’s pulse where his thumbs are resting.

He grips the bottom of the dark boxer-briefs, waits until Mustafa feels calm enough to look him in the eye again, and praises, “Good boy,” as he tugs them off, tossing them off the side of the bed. Mustafa _whines_ and closes his eyes, bucking off the bed before Joe manages to pin him back down, one arm heavy across his slim hips. “Ah, baby,” he feigns disappointment. “Good boys can control themselves.” Despite his words, he presses another kiss to Mustafa’s warm skin, this time at the top of the younger man’s thigh.

Mustafa is breathing heavily, and he doesn’t seem to know where to place his hands. “Daddy, please, I can’t-” He gasps when Joe noses along the shaft of his cock, a sharp keening sound trapped in his throat. “Daddy, _please-_ ”

Joe loves how easily the word falls from Mustafa’s lips now that there’s no room for shyness. It’s always the bashful ones that are the most vocal in bed, once they’re led past their inhibitions, and Joe thinks he may be able to drag a scream from that lovely, arched throat tonight. He doesn’t do more than press tender butterfly kisses all over Mustafa’s blood-flushed cock, heavy and hot in his grip, and when another whine escapes the young man, Joe licks a long stripe from root to tip, and then takes Mustafa into his mouth in a smooth, slippery slide.

It’s a good thing that Joe is pinning Mustafa’s hips down with his left arm, because the other man cries out, his back arching and his feet scrabbling on the sheets for purchase. Joe savors Mustafa’s cock, swallowing down and pulling off at a leisurely pace, relishing in the small bursts of bitter-salt at the back of his tongue, when one of Mustafa’s hands find its way into Joe’s hair and _tugs_. The young man is begging now, warning Joe that he can’t hold on, that he’s about to come-

And abruptly, Joe draws away, licking his lips like he’s just enjoyed a good meal. He pets Mustafa’s flat belly, smirking when the young man stares at him in confused devastation. “You’ll come when Daddy thinks it’s time for you to come,” he tells Mustafa, who inhales sharply - almost a sob - and then covers his mouth with the back of one hand. Joe takes off his own briefs, hissing slightly when his own cock is freed from the confines of his underwear.

His attention now on Joe, Mustafa props himself up partly on his elbows, lips parted, chest heaving. His gaze travels over Joe’s chest, belly, and down. “Oh god, I don’t... I’ve never- You’re _huge_.”

It’s gratifying to hear that, but Joe doesn’t want to hurt him. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, crawling over Mustafa until he falls back onto the bed, kissing up his abdomen and pecs and back down to suck lightly on his hip and then on his inner thighs. A toned body, not overly sculpted, with a bit of softness around the waist, and his ass is firm without being flat. Mustafa’s reactions to Joe’s attention are honest, whining and writhing, caught between wanting to get away and wanting _more;_ in his honesty, Mustafa is more arousing than most lovers Joe has had. The older man wants to keep him on the edge, just to see how far he can drive Mustafa to pleading before he loses all control.

Panting, Mustafa somehow manages to scramble until he’s sitting up, and tugs Joe up to kiss him on the mouth with the desperation of a dying man. Then he wraps his long limbs around Joe and _flips_ them, so that Joe is the one on the bottom and Mustafa is straddling him.

“Police officer, remember?” Mustafa says when Joe raises his eyebrows at him in pleased surprise. The young man’s pupils are blown wide, a smile curving his luscious lips, and he shimmies down (skimming his body over Joe’s skin) until he’s eye level with Joe’s erection.

Joe smirks. “Well, baby? What do you want?”

“Please, may I?” Mustafa asks in a tone close to a purr, peering up from beneath his eyelashes. “May I suck your cock, Daddy?”

Mustafa being innocent may be arousing, but Mustafa being deliberately seductive makes Joe’s pulse kick up a few notches. _Baby likes to play._ Joe smirks. “Yes, baby, show Daddy what you can do.”

The fervor with which Mustafa bends to the task amply demonstrates that he _really_ likes doing this. Hot, wet suction, the slight tickle of his stubble, red lips stretched obscenely as he works Joe’s cock in his mouth; Joe has pictured this scene countless times since they met and the real thing is far better. He puts a hand against Mustafa's cheek, feels the young man's tongue sliding around and over the glans, under it; watches as Mustafa wraps his right hand around the shaft to hold Joe steady while he sucks on the head. He throws his head back on a deep, ragged sigh when Mustafa tries to take all of Joe’s cock into his mouth, tries to push it into his throat (he _can’t_ , not yet, and Joe looks forward to coaching him until he _can_ ), swallowing and fighting his gag reflex. Mustafa’s hips flex, his own cock rubbing sticky trails on Joe’s right shin.

“Enough, baby,” Joe says, when Mustafa has to pull off a third time, coughing, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes and his scruff wet with saliva. The older man grabs a condom and unwraps it, tossing the plastic over the side of the bed, and hands it to Mustafa. “Put it on me, hmm?”

Once the condom is rolled on, Joe hauls the younger man up until he’s in Joe’s lap, legs spread wide. Their erections are brushing together as they breathe, heavy inhalations and soft, anticipatory smiles.

“I saw the dildo in the drawer,” Joe whispers, gripping Mustafa’s ass to stop him wriggling about. The young man’s eyes go wide, and then looks away. He’s _embarrassed_. It’s ridiculously endearing, considering what they’re about to do. “When was the last time you used it?”

Mustafa licks his lips. “...Thursday.”

“Oh? Was this before or after the date?” Once he has the lube, Joe slicks up his fingers. When Mustafa hesitates, Joe presses the pad of his middle finger against his entrance, an eyebrow raised questioningly, and the younger man nods. “Answer the question, baby. I want to know.”

“After,” Mustafa whispers, then gasps as Joe breaches him for the first time. As Joe slowly works his finger into Mustafa, the latter goes on: “After... I came home, I showered, a-and then I saw your text.”

Joe hums, leisurely sliding his finger in to the second knuckle. “I was apologizing for the how the date turned out.”

“I-I was still... Joe, _Daddy_ , more, please.” Mustafa clutches Joe’s shoulders and bites his upper lip until Joe obliges with a second finger. “I was still damp from the shower and I thought... I was thinking - was _thinking_ , how would you react if, if I took a selfie then, sent it to you.”

“With you half-naked and still wet?” Joe murmurs, pulling his fingers out and using more lube. He’s a firm believer that there’s always time for more lube. Sheets can be laundered. “Well, I’d have liked that a lot.”

Mustafa laughs, then gasps again when Joe pushes two fingers inside him, pushing deeper than before. His erection wilts a little but Joe’s not worried; he scissors his thick fingers and curls them as he probes for that little nub of nerves. Mustafa’s breath catches and Joe grins. “Right there?”

Nodding, Mustafa squeezes his eyes shut, and chokes back a soft cry when Joe prods again, gently.

“Just for your personal reference,” Joe says, easing off of Mustafa’s prostate, his other hand on the small of Mustafa’s back to keep him steady, “I’m _very_ appreciative of nudes.”

“But do you reciprocate?” Mustafa asks.

“You can still use multi-syllabic words. I’m not doing this right,” Joe teases. He slicks up again and pushes a third finger in, rotating his wrist and curling his fingertips, his thumb pressed against the perineum. “Yes, I do, when given proper incentive.”

He’s not sure Mustafa hears him. The other man is covered with a sheen of sweat, his thighs shaking, and he’s clenching down ever-so-slightly against the intrusion. Joe scissors his fingers again, spreading Mustafa more, until Mustafa is pressing down on his fingers with impatience. Finally, his fingers withdraw and he spreads lubricant on his covered cock. Mustafa cups his face and kisses him hungrily, soft mewls escaping him.

Joe steadies his own breathing and then, slowly, guides the head of his cock into Mustafa. He watches as the young man shudders from the intrusion and then takes a deep breath, suddenly pushing _down_ in a determined slide. Startled, Joe groans, a low rumble, his iron control the only reason he hasn't just come from that alone; even with the prep, Mustafa is still _tight_. Mustafa inhales sharply and his breath hitches; he buries his face in Joe’s thick neck and his arms go around the older man’s shoulders, clinging on for dear life.

“Don’t move,” Mustafa begs, “don’t move oh god please don’t move don’tmovedon’tmovedon’tmove-”

“I won’t, baby, I’m not going to,” Joe reassures him. It must have _hurt_ to take all of Joe in one shot, sexy as it was. He smooths back Mustafa’s hair and kisses his cheek, his ear, his shoulder. “Daddy’s got you, baby, it’s okay, I’ll take care of you.”

He rolls them over so he’s covering Mustafa, gently kissing away his winces and muted whimpers, and holds the young man close, until Mustafa finally nods, his cheek rubbing against Joe’s. “M’okay,” he whispers. “Just... slow, please.”

Slow Mustafa wants, slow Mustafa gets. Joe takes a deliberate pace, in and out of the other man, savoring every tremble and shiver as he moves. It takes a while, but Mustafa eventually starts rocking up to meet Joe’s thrusts.

After slicking himself up once again and pushing the head of his cock back into the younger man, Joe looks right into Mustafa’s eyes. “Ready for more, baby?”

Mustafa nods, a small, shy smile curving his lips that part into a gasp when Joe thrusts hard. Joe leans back, pulling the other man’s long legs up until they are draped over Joe’s strong shoulders. There is no leverage for Mustafa to move anywhere other than how Joe wants him, and judging by how the younger man’s breathing picks up, he knows it. Joe smirks (Finn’s told him before that he looks especially dangerous when he does that) and Mustafa _clenches_ , just a little, and his hands fly to the sheets near his head.

“Hang on now,” Joe warns, large hands settling on Mustafa’s hips. “Touch yourself when you need to, but don’t come till I say so.”

The next thrust shoves Mustafa up the bed, and he’s dragged back onto Joe’s cock. The big man thrusts hard a few times, angling himself until he hears Mustafa _keen_ , and then he practically bends the young man in two and fucks him at a steady, fast pace. Mustafa’s open eyes are unseeing, his dark hair wild; his fingers clutch uselessly at the sheets, then at Joe’s hair, neck, shoulder; he digs in sharply enough that he probably breaks skin.

Joe’s right hand is braced beside Mustafa’s neck and the other is reaching around Mustafa's thigh to stroke his hard, leaking cock, but the young man's hand is already there, jerking roughly, and Joe closes his hand over it to add more pressure. Mustafa’s voice hitches every time Joe fucks into him, and he’s sobbing from need. He keeps begging, his words slurring and half-formed, all _please_ and _Daddy_ and _now_ and _I can’t_.

“Yes, baby, do it, come for Daddy, come on now,” Joe orders, urges, _growls_ , and Mustafa’s almost crying as he throws his head back, practically _screams_ before his voice gives out, streaking his belly and covering their hands with come. His entire body goes taut, his knees clenching on Joe’s neck and his back a perfect bowed arch. Joe clings onto his control, nearly dragged into his own climax, but he manages to wait until Mustafa relaxes, shaking, his eyes glazed over from passion. Then his brow furrows when he realizes Joe is still hard inside him.

“You didn’t...?” Mustafa manages.

Licking the side of his come-covered hand, Joe smiles and then kisses the young man’s slack mouth. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you until you’re ready for round two, baby.” He pauses, his breathing heavy, his smile turning predatory. “Told you: we have the _whole_ night.”

Mustafa’s soulful eyes widen. “Oh my god.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one that's the day after and Seth has two surprises.

The alarm on his phone is the most hateful thing in the entire world. If Mustafa had his gun next to him, he’d shoot it right now. Still, he has to wake up, shower, get through a workout... except when he tries to move, his lower half screams at him and his legs don’t want to respond. He groans and hears an answering chuckle, so he rolls over (feeling all the twinges in his lower back).

Joe is already awake, resting against the headboard and looking immeasurably _smug_ , damn him. He’s also dressed, more’s the pity, but Mustafa can still smell sex on him. Just a whiff; he’s not showered yet, so he probably just wiped himself down. His sleeves are rolled up and Mustafa gets a little distracted skimming his fingers along the strong forearms. Joe trails his fingers through Mustafa’s hair. “Morning.”

“Morning, Daddy,” Mustafa replies, and then realizes what he’s said. Mortification flushes his cheeks. It’s one thing to call Joe _Daddy_ in the throes of passion, but another to say it out loud in the bright light of day (even if it’s not quite day yet).

Joe bends to kiss him, murmuring, “That sounds so nice from you, baby. I’ve already made breakfast, but unfortunately I gotta run.”

Mustafa levers himself up, wincing. He is going to sit funny all day, but at least it’s a reminder of something good. “Thanks, Joe. Is everything alright?”

“I think I prefer you calling me ‘Daddy’,” Joe teases, and presses his lips to Mustafa again, like he hasn’t just kissed him seconds ago. “Becky injured her hand late last night and was at the hospital until this morning, so Paige hasn’t cleared the till from the bar nor has it been cleaned up properly. Becky’s fine - she just needed stitches - but I have to check on her and get back to clean up.”

“Glad she’s okay,” the younger man says, stretching and rolling his shoulders, and is quietly gratified that Joe’s eyes darken for a second as he admires Mustafa’s naked body. “I’ll call you after my shift?”

“Sure. Or you can drop by the bar.” Joe kisses him again, light pecks on his smiling lips. “I’d be more than happy to _fraternize_ at work. Show you my office.” The way he says it makes Mustafa grin, shy and amused. He is definitely considering it.

“Mmm. Okay.” Mustafa flops back on the pillow. “Go on, Daddy. You have to take care of business. And I need to shower and get to work.”

Joe leaves, reluctantly, after at least another half a dozen kisses. Mustafa knows how he feels; he wants nothing more than to spend Sunday snuggled in bed with Joe, maybe go another few rounds. However, he has to go on shift.

***

All morning Mustafa manfully hides his wincing, though Cedric shoots him dark looks; they haven’t talked since they both clocked in and they kept their conversation to a minimum on patrol. It’s as tense as it ever gets between them.

Just before lunchtime, a tasteful flower arrangement arrives at the precinct. “Delivery for a Mr Mustafa Ali?” the delivery woman calls out.

Mustafa can’t hide his surprise. “Me?”

“If you’re Mr Ali, then it’s yours.” She has him sign for it and leaves. The other cops wolf-whistle or wink at him; Mustafa is popular. Dana pats him on the back and whispers a loud _attaboy_ before flashing two OK signs at him. “Gotta go meet the captain, but tell me everything later, okay?”

“Not _everything_ ,” Mustafa says, but Dana winks at him in an exaggerated manner. Crews who’s stuck on desk duty throws him a thumbs up when he walks past with the arrangement.

After taking the flowers to his desk, Mustafa finds the attached card and a bashfully dopey grin spreads across his face. Cedric peers over his shoulder and reads, “ _‘Couldn't stop thinking about last night. Hope you like roses. -Joe’._ Last night? Moose, did you take him back to _your_ _place?_ ” A look of horror passes over his features. “Did he spend the night?”

“Yes, Cedric, because I invited him, and frankly it is none of your business.” Mustafa sighs and adds, “I’m a grown man. I can date who I wanna date and sleep with who I wanna sleep with. You don’t get to decide who’s good for me.”

“I don’t want you hurt, Moose,” Cedric says in a low voice. “And he looks like someone who can hurt you real bad.”

“You can’t protect me from everything.” Then, just as quietly, he says, “He makes me laugh. We can talk about different things. He’s funny, and considerate, and he’s... I feel safe with him. I like him, Ced. I really do.”

The black man folds his arms and stands his ground, but he says nothing for a while. Mustafa waits. Then he pouts, just a little bit of “I Thought We Were Best Friends, No. 5”. Eventually, Cedric relents. “I know I give you a hard time about your dating life. I’ll back off. But - just between us? - I don’t like Joe and I don’t trust him.”

***

“You sent _roses?_ You must really like him.” Paige pauses from her mopping up the floor. She wipes her brow with the back of her hand. “At least _you_ had a good time. Waiting for a doctor at the ER is shite. Do you even know how many drunks there are on Saturday past midnight? And every last one of them tried a Snow White line on me.”

“At least Becky’s not in police custody,” Joe retorts as he wipes down the counter. He had been to see the redhead earlier at the apartment she and Paige share, and she’d been asleep, doped to the gills, her right hand wrapped in a bandage. Seven stitches across the palm, and her fingers were a mess. “Can’t believe she smashed a bottle the wrong way.”

Paige shrugs. “She held it too far down the neck. I’ll teach her when she has the use of her right hand again, that dumbass.” She leans on the handle of the mop and frowns. “I don’t really want to intrude on your personal life, Joe, and I know Becks has already voiced _her_ worries, but I’m kinda concerned that this’ll turn into a hangout for cops.”

Joe understands. “I’m not looking to _date_ the guy, Paige. He’s a bit of fun is all.”

“A bit of fun you sent roses to.” Paige resumes mopping. “When’s the last time you did that?”

***

Seth wonders if he ought to share Dr Shelby’s insight from their appointment with Finn, but decides against it. At least the doctor thinks it’s an encouraging sign that Seth’s libido has returned.

Finn has been strange lately. He's sometimes distant, and just when Seth begins to think he's done something wrong, Finn seeks him out to talk or just sit together, their hands tangled. It's confusing. Tyler can’t offer any insight, plus he’s busy now with work: the breakup in Rome thrust Tyler back in the spotlight and he’s decided to grab hold of the opportunity to do a few interviews. (Seth has seen the photoshoot with _Flaunt_ and the one with _Out_ ; in both of them, Tyler looked entirely unlike his usual Instagram celebrity self: serious, contemplative, pared-back, _soft_ , more like the Tyler Seth knows. Seth thinks the blond is stunning in one particular black-and-white shot of just Tyler in a tattered pair of jeans, sitting on a concrete floor, fussing over Prince Pretty, completely relaxed. It’s the most graceful and _honest_ photo of Tyler Seth has ever seen, and Finn agreed when he saw the picture.)

He gets home in time for a shower before work, but there’s no one else in the penthouse. As he gets dressed, his phone chimes, and just as he retrieves it, his _old_ phone vibrates, where it is on his nightstand. Seth nearly drops the new phone. He unlocks the new phone first and sees a message from Finn: _‘I left my appointment book in my study, and the boys are out with Sasha. Could you bring it to me at the Playroom?’_

Seth replies in the affirmative. Then, heart pounding, he unlocks the old phone. Fifty-eight messages, nineteen phone calls. All Dean.

_‘We’ve waited long enough. We’re getting you out.’_

Covering his mouth, Seth sits on the bed. He’s sent two short texts to Roman and Dean after he started seeing Dr Shelby (the first to say he’s safe and the second to say he’ll contact them when he’s ready) but he hasn’t answered their messages at all. He can’t avoid them forever. With shaking fingers, he calls Dean.

 _“Seth? Thank fuck. Where are you? Can you tell us?_ ” Dean sounds brusque and surly, as he always does when worried. “ _Are you on speaker?_ ”

Seth has to swallow a few times before he can speak. “No, I’m not on speaker. I-I’m staying with a friend. I’m not - I’m not with Hunter anymore. Dean, I... I’m sorry. I should’ve called but... Look. Listen. I can’t really tell you and Roman over the phone what happened, because... because a _lot_ has happened, so if you’re coming to LA, could we meet up someplace?”

Dean is silent for a moment, during which Seth thinks his best friend is trying not to swear at him, and then Dean says, “ _Yeah. Gimme the address._ ”

“I’ll text it to you.”

“ _You’d better._ ” Dean exhales heavily and Seth hears the thump of something heavy. “ _I’ve been angling to go bust you out since you stopped texting but Roman couldn’t leave until Seffy's settled in._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Seth repeats. He picks at a cuticle. “I really wanna see you guys. I was just... I was afraid. Still am afraid.”

Dean snorts. “ _Text me_.” He hangs up without a goodbye.

Seth takes a few deep breaths and dials _Samoa Joe’s_ number. It’s Paige's voice on the other end when he utters a tentative “Hello, it's Seth?”

_“Baby boy, heya. What’s up?”_

“Hi Paige. Is, um, is Mr Joe there?” He rubs at his scruff. “Kinda need to ask a favor.”

_“Give us a second.”_

She yells for Joe, away from the phone, and in a few seconds it’s Joe’s rough voice asking, _“Yeah?”_

“Mr Joe, some of my friends... I-I need a place to meet my friends, and, um, tell them about... about stuff that happened. With M- with Hunter.” Seth’s palms are clammy. “May I meet them at your bar?”

 _“Of course.”_ Joe sounds surprised that Seth is even asking. _“Let me know when.”_

“Thank you sir.” The young man swallows, then makes himself smile. “I mean, thank you, Mr Joe.”

Joe snorts, then bids him goodbye before hanging up. Seth texts Dean the address (he has to look it up) and then hugs himself around the belly. _You can’t run forever,_ he tells himself. _Best to face it head-on._ He shakes himself again. Then he packs the snickerdoodles he made yesterday and grabs the appointment book for Finn.

***

The Playroom is a very modern space, unlike the few dungeons Seth was taken to by Hunter. (Hunter sometimes used those outings for business negotiations, with Seth as something to distract the other party; the settings were usually some shady-looking building or the actual basement of a mansion: always secretive and oppressive, with thick curtains and dim lighting.) The entire place is well-lit yet still intimate, somehow. The smallest room is the office, right by the waiting area with its comfortable seats - it’s almost like a spa’s lounge. Then a short hallway divides the main space into two: each side is a soundproof dungeon with adjoining bathrooms and supply closets. The left is Sasha’s, the right is Finn’s. On the wall there is a sign requesting all mobile devices capable of recording to be switched off, and on the door to each dungeon is the single stated rule of the Playroom:

_Stop means Stop._

(The first time Seth visited, Luke had added in an undertone that the second unspoken rule of the Playroom is _Finn’s word is law_ ; when the Irishman insists on something, then it is done. Seth is curious why there’s so much respect for Finn, but Luke and Karl have been tight-lipped on Finn’s past, and Seth hasn’t dared to pry any secrets from the older man himself.)

Knowing better than to poke around the dungeons in case a scene is going on, Seth goes into the office and sets the appointment book on Finn’s desk, before he pops a box of snickerdoodles on Sasha’s. Just as he’s about to text Finn and leave, the office door swings open, Finn walks in, and Seth forgets how to breathe.

If Finn in a black suit is like a deadly blade in a sheath, then Finn in a leather harness and low-riding tight leather pants with way too many buckles and straps is a walking totem of pure sex. The harness, with its gleaming stainless metal rings and studs, frames his pecs and shoulders perfectly, and his impossibly sculpted abs are on full display. His skin is glistening with sweat or possibly baby oil. He’s holding a _riding crop._

Seth can barely tear his eyes from the seductive curves of the older man’s hip, and when he has _just_ managed to look at Finn’s face, he realizes that Finn has put on eyeliner.

Fucking. _Eyeliner_. Around those gorgeous blue eyes.

Seth’s entire brain fizzles out.

Entirely oblivious to Seth’s inner meltdown, Finn smiles when he sees the younger man. “Hi, sweetheart, I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Thanks for bringing my appointment book; I forgot who else I have today.” He then _bends over his desk_ , like his outfit isn’t already causing Seth minor heart attacks. The harness forms an X across his upper back, and Seth’s eyes go automatically to that spot where they cross and follow the line of Finn’s backbone down. The leather pants slide a little lower, showing off the dimples at the base of his spine, and the top of Finn’s _ass_ looks far too bite-able.

“Ngprlm.” Seth shrugs with one shoulder and clutches at his satchel, swinging it in front of him, in case Finn notices his _interest._  He bites the inside of his cheek and tries again. “No problem. I, uh, I gotta go. Mick needs help with, uh, with a thing.”

“Oh? Okay.” Finn scratches the bridge of his nose and squints, before rummaging around his top drawer and pulling out a pair of glasses. He then puts them on (with no regard to Seth’s continued sanity, how _rude_ ), and runs a finger down the page of his appointment book slowly, while his other hand taps the riding crop against his leg in an absent manner.

(Seth wants to bend over _right now,_ feel the sting of the keeper across the back of his shoulders, on his ass, on the back or the insides of his thighs, he doesn’t really mind at all as long as it’s Finn using it on him _._ )

“I have sessions until two in the morning, love, and then I have to discuss a potential new client with Sasha,” he says, turning to smile ruefully in Seth’s direction, sliding the glasses off smoothly like he’s auditioning to be a (porn) librarian in a (porn) library ready to give a lecture (on porn). “Sorry I can’t go home with you later. I’ll probably come in near dawn.”

“It’s okay, I’ll just take an Uber or something. Bye. You, uh, have fun. Bye.”

Finn in glasses. Finn in eyeliner. Finn in leather dom gear. Finn with a riding crop.

Seth is going to  _die_ before the end of his shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will be VERY THANKFUL for any art of Finn in *that outfit*
> 
> UPDATE: PQ doodled that picture [HERE](https://peppermintquartz.tumblr.com/post/183263760965/sometimes-you-just-gotta-draw-a-dude-holding-a)
> 
> UPDATE: read 'the moments between' for what happened to Becky


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Seth shows how he really feels about Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we know it's been 84 years but here you go, have some Ballins (part 1), ya filthy animals.

Work crawls by. The hours are currently a little odd, because Mick is still working out a schedule for himself, Seth, and two more part-timers (both of whom are girls, so Mick wants them to work daytime). So Seth’s now got six to midnight, and Mick takes midnight to six. (He likes the night shift - it's not so quiet that he's left alone with the worst of his thoughts, and it's not so busy that he can't rest. There are regulars that he recognizes now too, other than Aleister, and none of them are obnoxious.)

Thankfully, Mick goes upstairs to his little apartment soon after Seth arrives, so Seth can daydream a little. He can’t stop thinking about Finn in all the leather. He’s grown so used to seeing Finn in suits or casual gym wear that he has forgotten that Finn is a professional dom. It is in his bearing and his natural confidence, but seeing him _dressed_ that way... While it may be somewhat stereotypical for a dom to be in leather gear, Finn seems at home in that outfit. Yet he is... _different_ , somehow, like all the politeness and civility has been stripped away, like he is showing the world exactly _what_ he is.

And he’s unabashedly, jaw-droppingly _sexy_.

Seth manages to keep himself calm all the way home, even while he's showering, but as he gets into bed and puts on his own glasses to finish _The Once and Future King_ , he thinks about Finn's spectacles, and that leads to him thinking about Finn wearing eyeliner, and leather, and the riding crop, and Seth's dick is suddenly very awake.

A quick glance at the clock tells him that it’s only just past one in the morning; Finn would have just finished his sessions, and he said he has a meeting with Sasha after that. Seth bites his lower lip. There’s time. He kicks off the sheets and pulls off his shorts. There’s hand and body lotion in the bathroom - Finn is _meticulous_ about his grooming - but that’s too far away; Seth spits in his palm and grips his erection. His nerves practically sing as he starts stroking his cock, his eyes screwed shut as he focuses on the memory of Finn in _that_ _outfit_ , with his riding crop tapping his leg. He pictures blue eyes made more striking with dark eyeliner, watching Seth touch himself, _again,_ the way he imagined Finn and Joe not too long ago at Joe’s place. His glasses slip down his nose and he sets it to the side impatiently.

 _Oh, sweetheart, you do like being watched,_ he imagines Finn saying, with that knowing little smile on his red lips. _Will you put on a show for me, love?_

Seth’s pulse quickens, his breaths coming out sharp and fast. His fingers tighten around himself, and he moves his hand, whining a little at the dry friction, hurriedly releasing himself and spitting once more into his palm. Panting slightly, Seth tosses his head back into the pillow behind him, imagining Finn lying next to him, on his side, one finger trailing slowly up the center of his stomach, tickling him softly and circling his nipple.

 _You look so lovely like this, darling,_ is what he hears, what he longs for Finn to tell him, dark-lined eyes focused solely on him. _Keep going, sweetheart; you’re doing so well._

A noise escapes Seth, somewhere between another whine and a sob, and he squeezes his own eyes shut tightly, lips parting as he slowly drags his hand up, then back down his cock.

“Finn,” he hears himself saying, his voice harsh and desperate, “Finn, what else? Tell me what to do, _please_ , I want to make you happy, tell me what to do, I’ll do _anything_ for you, tell me how to please you-”

“Just don’t stop, sweetheart.”

His eyes still shut, Seth groans, using his precome to add to the slipperiness of his grip, rubbing his thumb over the head and along his shaft, his hand moving faster, and his knees spreading a little wider. He wishes he had his vibrator with him, all of the sex toys buried with the rest of his old clothes in the other room. It doesn’t even matter that it was from Hunter - he doesn’t _care,_ as long as Finn likes it. It’s hard to _think_ now, to do anything more than respond to the pleasure of touching himself.

“Slow down, darling.” Finn’s voice is low, an intimate command, and Seth shudders. It sounds so _real_ that he calls for Finn again, breathy and full of yearning, and hears Finn say, “It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

Suddenly it hits him. Seth jolts upright in bed, hands flying to the sheets to haul them over his lap, and all the blood in his body floods his face. Finn is _right there,_ leaning against the door, his hungry gaze fixed on Seth.

“I-” His words catch in his throat - not that he has any idea of what he should _say_ right now. His hands are clenched in the sheets, trying his best to pull them further up, to hide away from Finn’s intent stare.

“Seth.” The gentle tone makes Seth want to _cry,_ makes him want to sink into the center of the mattress and never return. His cheeks, his entire face continues to burn, scorching heat filling him. “Sweetheart.” There’s something _more_ in that, something Seth is only just imagining, _hoping_ to hear: _Desire._

The bed dips, and a hand inches to his own, wrapping loosely around it. “Seth, love.” Seth swallows hard, bringing his knees up and burying his face in them, a hot curl of humiliation rising. _Finn heard him. Finn_ saw _him._ “Seth, look at me, please.” A calloused thumb slides over the back of his hand - god, the same hand Seth has just been- “Sweetheart, I’d like you to look at me right now.”

There’s no demand in Finn’s voice, nothing that says that he isn’t giving Seth the _choice_ to not look at him if he doesn’t want to, but the younger man feels the urge - the _need_ \- to comply with the soft request, lifting his head slowly and turning just enough to look into Finn’s blue eyes, still lined in dark kohl.

Finn’s mouth is curved in a sad, apologetic smile. His thumb never stops in its gentle caress. “I’m sorry, darling. I shouldn’t have teased. Are you angry with me?”

Seth can’t speak, his words caught in his throat, but he shakes his head vigorously. He turns his hand so it is palm-up, lacing his fingers with Finn’s. It’s comforting, and Seth feels more guilty than ever, because Finn has been nothing but kind and patient with him, how could Seth do _that,_ how could he use Finn for his own filthy fantasies this way?

“That’s good to know,” Finn whispers. He lifts Seth’s hand to his lips and kisses the younger man’s knuckles, pressing them to his nose to sniff delicately. Seth feels heat creeping up the back of his neck, knowing what he’s just been caught doing with that very hand. “You look so _beautiful_ , and you were calling my name; that’s no excuse, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overstepped, Seth. Thank you for forgiving me.” It’s a sweet and sincere apology, but Seth’s pulse is still racing, the proximity of the Irishman adding to his confusion.

“You... Shouldn’t _you_ be angry at me?” he ventures. He swallows nervously. “I mean... it’s your bed, a-and I’m... using you. Like that.”

Finn’s smile grows wider, mischievous. “Like what, sweetheart?”

Seth ducks his head again, mortified beyond words.

“I’m not angry, darling, I’m flattered,” Finn says, and that bit of teasing in his tone gets Seth to look at him again. “And I’m _very_ turned on. Do you want to continue?”

“I-” Seth licks his lips. “You... you’re okay with it?”

“More than.” Finn kisses Seth's knuckles again, tongue flicking out to taste. “Please continue, love, show me just how much you want me.”

“Then... um. Yeah.” Seth bites his lower lip. In a fit of recklessness, he adds, “Could you put on your glasses?”

Finn laughs quietly and nods. “All the better to see you with, my dear.”

A sudden rush of laughter surprises Seth, quick and breathless, and Finn smiles at him, his eyes soft and his lips crooked. “That was-”

“Hilarious,” Finn finishes for him, his eyes dancing. He releases Seth’s hand and walks over to his nightstand, tugging open the top drawer and reaching inside, then pulling out the small case that houses the glasses he keeps here, removing them and - slowly, his lips curling - putting them in place and-

Seth _shivers,_ the way the beautiful blue eyes, enhanced by the dark lines outlining each of them, are made even _more_ striking than normal behind the lenses, making his brain short out for just a moment, his gut tighten.

“Well, sweetheart,” murmurs Finn, remaining where he is, not making a single move to return to Seth. “Is this what you were imagining?”

“And the crop,” Seth’s mouth forms words without consulting his brain, because his brain is shrieking _Finn in glasses!_ on loop.

The Irishman grins and shrugs. “Well then. In for a penny, in for a pound.” He reaches under the bed, retrieving something from a box that hides him for a moment, during which Seth replays the last couple of minutes in his head trying to figure out _what the hell made him say what he said_ , and re-emerges with a riding crop. Finn raises an eyebrow at Seth. “I think the intermission is over, sweetheart. Let’s get on with the show.”

He stalks around the large bed, gaze pinning Seth to where he is; only when he’s right next to Seth does Finn place the flat tongue of the riding crop on the center of Seth’s bare chest. Finn’s eyes darken behind his glasses. “Tell me to stop when you want me to stop, darling. Or would you prefer a safeword?”

Seth’s heartbeat stutters. “Penthouse,” he blurts out. “Safeword is penthouse.” It’s the safest place he knows. From his warm smile, the older man understands.

“Penthouse,” Finn repeats, and slides the tip of the crop down to where the sheets are covering Seth. “Now. Off with these. I want to see _everything._ ”

Seth hurriedly kicks away the sheets, and the way Finn’s eyes travel down his body, taking in every detail, makes him feel a little self-conscious at first, but then Finn breathes, “You’re so lovely, sweetheart,” in almost a _direct echo_ of the Finn of Seth’s imagination, and he feels every sliver of shyness, of embarrassment, drift away, his cheeks still burning, but with a pleasant heat now.

“What, um- What should I call you?”

The riding crop is resting in the center of Seth’s stomach, just over where the soft trail of hair leading to his groin begins. “Just _Finn,_ love,” he tells Seth and reaches to cup Seth’s jaw. “I’ll always be Finn to you, unless you’d like to call me something different?”

Seth thinks of Joe - of _sir_ and _Daddy_ \- but can’t fit either of them with the Finn he knows, though he knows Finn _must_ go by certain titles in the Playroom. (His mind flashes to Hunter, for just a moment, to _Master,_ and everything in him recoils, refusing to associate Finn with someone like _him,_ with someone who _enjoys_ hurting others, takes pleasure in making Seth cry and hurt and beg-)

“I-” He clears his throat, licking his lips. “No, I- Just Finn,” he agrees. “Just Finn.”

A gentle sort of expression falls over Finn’s face, the pad of his thumb caressing Seth’s lower lip before he draws back, dragging the end of the crop down, down, down, but avoiding Seth’s cock, instead sliding over his thigh, tapping lightly before Finn steps back and away, the toy placed neatly at the edge of the bed. His fingers go to the buttons of his shirt - black, as always - and smoothly undoes them all, revealing pale skin and-

_Leather._

The wide straps of the black leather harness - a startling contrast to his pale, pale skin - comes into view, and Seth’s breath catches for a long moment, making him feel a little light-headed.

“Seth, darling.” Finn’s voice is amused, sexy and low. His hands remove the shirt, tossing it to the side, uncaring of the state it will be in by the morning, before they move to the button of his slacks. “Focus.”

“Right, focus.” Seth licks his lips, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “What am I focusing on?”

Finn picks up the crop again, leaving his slacks on, and skims the keeper up the inside of Seth’s thighs until it brushes his balls. Seth gasps and swallows hurriedly. The Irishman smirks. “Hand on your cock, sweetheart. I want to watch you touch yourself - slow, _slow -_ that’s right, darling, slowly, eyes on me now.”

Seth moves his hand as instructed, _agonizingly_ slowly, while Finn observes with his head tilted, a ghost of a smirk on his red, red lips. The tip of the crop strokes along Seth’s thighs, over the sharp curve of his hip, taps his knees. Seth can feel goosebumps prickling over his skin where the leather keeper touches him, and his pulse races for all that he’s barely done _anything_. He greedily catalogs every inch of skin he can see, noting the freckles and the scars, especially the long surgical scar on his right shoulder, and wondering what caused it.

Finn continues to stare, to watch Seth with that heated gaze of his, blue eyes dark and heavy. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips when Seth whines as the leather travels back to the inside of his thigh, tapping again, just light little swats, not enough force behind them to even make Seth flinch.

“You can-“ Seth pauses, catches his breath, tries to pretend he has _some_ composure right now. “You can,” he repeats, eyes flicking down to the crop resting innocently in its place. “ _Please_.”

Finn considers him, a gentle frown on his face. Finally, he tells Seth, “I think, perhaps, another time, sweetheart.” Seth can feel his face fall, and Finn must notice (he _always_ notices, takes note of everything about Seth, as though Seth is one of the most precious people in his life; Seth’s chest feels tight as he thinks it, wishing, wanting - _hoping_ \- it’s true) because he tacks on a soft, “Once we discuss things, love. For tonight, I think I’d like us to focus only on pleasure.”

On the last word, Seth whimpers. Finn smiles for real now and strolls up the bed to brush his knuckles over Seth’s soft scruff. “You seem to be frustrated, sweetheart. How can I help?”

“I-” Seth licks his lips. “I don't know what- how do you want me? Do you... Do you want me to cry? Should I- Do you want me to be good? Or naughty? I can be naughty, for you, just tell me, I can beg if you want-” He feels lost, somehow, not sure of how Finn wants him to behave in bed.

A flash of anger passes over Finn's face, but he smiles almost immediately, so Seth isn't sure if he's mistaken. Finn cups Seth's cheek and brushes a thumb over his chin. “I want you,” Finn murmurs, “to show me _you_. Not an act. I want to know you as you are.” He exhales slowly and adds, “I want you to touch me when you want to, to make requests when you want to, to stop if you want to. I want you to _be yourself_ , darling, I want that more than anything in the world.”

Seth doesn't know how to respond to that declaration. Other than the first two or three times he had sex, his own preferences have not been important to his partners. Finn must sense his hesitation, because he asks, “What is the first thing you want me to do?”

“Can you just... can you sit here? Please?” He shifts, turning his head to nuzzle Finn’s hand, lips parted, hoping for a _taste_ of his skin.

Finn makes a strange sound in his throat, as if he has to stop himself from saying something. Instead, he settles against the headboard, and Seth shuffles down the bed slightly to place his head on Finn’s thigh. The Irishman rests his hand in the younger man’s hair, his fingertips pushing against Seth’s scalp. Seth purrs at the contact and his grip tightens on his cock.

“You’re beautiful like this, sweetheart,” Finn tells Seth, and Seth _shudders_ , his hips jerking. When he opens his eyes (when did he close them?), Finn is looking down at him, a fond smile on his lips, blue eyes darker than before, and his fingers thread into Seth’s hair, tugging lightly, dragging a thin whine from Seth’s throat. Seth’s hand tightens a little more, his hips bucking again, fucking his cock into his increasingly wet grip, his eyes captured by Finn’s. Fucking hell, how is it possible for a pair of glasses to make him _even more attractive?_ Finn’s gaze is heavy once more as he licks his lips, as his free hand trails over Seth’s cheek, down to his chest, his thumb circling one nipple, pinching lightly (and, _god_ , Seth is almost embarrassed at the sound that elicits, at the way his hips jerk, his cock pulses).

Seth turns his head, finally breaking away from Finn’s gaze, and pants. “I want-“ He can’t _focus_ , can’t form a full sentence in his head.

Finn takes mercy on him and skims his hand back up Seth’s neck and jaw to cup Seth’s cheek, his thumb sliding gently over a plump lower lip. With his other hand, Seth guides Finn’s, sliding that thumb into his mouth and _sucks_ , his teeth scraping over skin, tongue circling and curling around it. Finn inhales sharply. “Seth, if you keep doing that, I’ll want to-”

“Yes,” Seth cuts in, and kisses Finn’s thumb, the heart of his palm, his wrist; he licks, nibbles, sucks on Finn’s pulse point. “Yes, _anything_ , yes.” He rolls so his nose is pressed against the bulge in Finn’s slacks and inhales, breathing in the older man’s scent. “Please,” he says, mouthing against it, letting go of his erection to fumble with the button. “Please fuck me.”

“Fuck,” Finn mutters, releases Seth’s face to help, his fingers steadier than the younger man’s, tugging and pulling until the button pops free, until he can drag the zipper down enough to allow Seth’s hand to slip inside, a low hiss escaping him at the contact. “Sweetheart,” gasps Finn, his head falling back as Seth’s hand closes around him. There’s no underwear in the way (Seth will think on that later, will let his mind traverse the territory of _commando Finn_ another day, another night), so Seth maneuvers enough, shifts to his belly, and finally, _finally,_ he gets to _look_. Finn’s eyes are blown dark behind those damn glasses, his mouth redder than ever; Seth drags his gaze down the sculpted torso (so deliciously framed with leather straps), down his abs, and to that uncut cock waiting for Seth’s undivided attention.

“I want to... I need to suck you, Finn, may I?” Seth pleads. He licks his lips and rubs his cheek against Finn’s erection, careful that his scruff doesn’t scratch him.

Finn’s hand returns to Seth’s hair. “Do it,” he orders.

Seth moans at the permission, at the _command_ ; he shifts so his knees are under him and he can brace his hands on Finn’s thighs, the better to savor the weight and heat of Finn’s cock on the flat of his tongue. Finn presses on the back of his head, lightly, and Seth goes down, relaxing his throat as best as he can, until the tip of his nose brushes against the neat thatch of dark curls at the base of Finn’s cock.

 _God, you smell so good,_ Seth thinks, a wave of adoration washing over him as he rubs the head of Finn’s cock against his hard palate and then back into his throat again. He’s going to have a sore throat for the _best reason_ , and he hums with elation when he tastes a small burst of salt on his tongue.

“Your _mouth_ ,” Finn murmurs, voice hoarse, fingertips scratching against Seth’s scalp, sending tingles dancing down the younger man’s spine. “You have such a pretty mouth, sweetheart, even prettier stretched around my cock. You’re doing so well.”

Another shiver dances down Seth’s spine at the praise. This is one thing that Seth knows he’s always been good at ( _a natural_ , Hunter had told him when they’d first met, back when things were sweet and good, when Seth laughed more than he flinched), but the gentle praise, the soft wonder in Finn’s voice as Seth repeats the action, as he flicks his tongue on his way back up, as he suckles on the thick head of his cock, the tip of his tongue pressing into the slit, his eyes looking directly into Finn’s behind the lenses of his thick-framed glasses as Finn utters soft curses and Seth’s name and _sweetheart_... That is worth everything it has taken Seth to get here.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Finn realizes he's doomed.

Finn’s control is fraying. He wants to fuck into Seth’s hot, willing mouth, to make him choke on his cock; he wants to see Seth’s lovely eyes filled with tears of pleasure; he wants to hold him down, tie him up, restrain him until he begs for more, for all of it, until he forgets everything, everyone else, remembers nothing but _Finn_. The older man swallows and forces himself to breathe steadily through his nose.

Someday. Someday, he will. He will keep Seth in bed, keep him bound, and savor him slowly, thoroughly, until he’s spoiled beyond words, until Finn has used up all the toys he has and Seth forgets that there is a world outside of their bed, until both of them are completely _filthy_ with lube and sweat and each other’s come. Not tonight, but soon, and he will learn all of Seth’s limits.

Seth’s cheeks hollow as he sucks, his gaze flicking up at Finn’s face every so often, his hands gripping Finn’s hips as he moves his head. His hair is a halo of dark brown curls, mussed and fluffy, and the planes of his back glisten with perspiration. Finn pictures red welts of a belt crisscrossing in a deliberate pattern over bright pink skin, made hot from flogging; imagines every strike from his crop, landing precisely on every part that makes Seth flinch and cry out, help him through his defenses; visualizes the praises and petting following that. He wants it so much that it _scares_ him, knowing that after tonight, he won’t ever be able to let Seth go without a fight.

Finn feels his climax nearing and grips the back of Seth’s neck. The younger man whimpers and pulls off when Finn tugs. His lips are puffy from use, and his eyes glazed over with pleasure. Finn caresses Seth’s face and watches how readily he leans into the touch, how he melts from praise. The younger man keeps his hands flat on his thighs, his fingers twitching; his cock is flushed a deep pink; a pearlescent drop of precome beads on the tip that the Irishman leans forward to swipe off, licks it off his thumb as he stares Seth in the eyes. Seth nearly bucks at the contact, a startled whine escaping him. The older man reaches into the pocket of his slacks for a condom before he pushes the garment off of him, Seth helping him.

“Go to my side of the bed and get the lubricant,” Finn orders. The younger man crawls across the expanse of the bed, giving Finn an _excellent_ view of his ass, and returns with a tube. In the meantime, Finn has opened the condom. A drop of lubricant right on the tip of his cock, and then he unrolls the condom over it. “Still yes, I presume?”

“Fuck yeah,” Seth says, excited and shy at the same time. He blinks at Finn and somehow, _somehow_ manages to blush even though he’s already flushed all over his face and down to the center of his chest. He ducks his head, smiling, hair obscuring part of his face. “I mean, yes. Yes, please.”

Finn’s chest is tight with fondness and adoration. “How is it,” he asks, reaching over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Seth’s ear, “that you can do that?” _You make me want to ravish you, to hold you, to make you scream, to protect you from the world, all at once._ Seth tilts his head, remarkably puppy-like, looking confused, opens his mouth to question Finn, but the Irishman cuts him off with a kiss, their lips colliding, moving in slow tandem before Finn pulls away, his forehead pressing to Seth’s while his hands slip around the other man’s thighs. Seth is panting quietly, his breath mingling with Finn’s before Finn abruptly pulls him down the mattress, leaving him flat on his back, thighs splayed wide so Finn can settle between them, a startled look on his face ( _like an innocent doe,_ Finn thinks this time). “May I?” he asks, pressing a tender kiss to Seth’s hand, still clutching the lubricant.

Seth blinks a few times, slow and dazed, before he finally nods, dropping the tube into Finn’s palm. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yes, yes, _please_.” His thighs drop open further, his hips canting upward, desperately trying to catch friction against the older man.

Finn tuts, a wicked smile curling his lips. “Ah-ah,” he tells the younger man, teasingly drawing his own hips back. “Patience, sweetheart, is a virtue.”

“I’ve _been_ patient,” Seth grumbles, his words slurring as though he’s intoxicated, “I’ve been waiting for you, ever since that first night, I’m _done_ being patient-”

He reaches for Finn’s harness and pulls, insistent, until Finn is tugged close enough to kiss. Seth kisses messily when he’s fed up with waiting, it turns out, biting and licking _everywhere_ , and he refuses to let go of the harness at all, as if letting go means Finn will disappear. The straps dig into the Irishman’s shoulders and back. He'll have some interesting bruises by tomorrow, but it’s worth it, it is worth all the discomfort to know just how much he means to Seth.

With every ounce of control he can summon, Finn pulls away and pushes Seth to lie flat on the bed. The lenses of his glasses are smeared and he tugs them off, tossing them to the nightstand and ignoring the clatter when he misses. He snaps open the tube of lubricant with one hand and slicks up his fingers, never once tearing his gaze from the younger man’s face. Intensely dark eyes, piercing and desperate and full of _longing_ \- Finn can’t look away at all. He reaches down, probing blindly, and at the first touch of his wet fingers to where Seth opens to him, the latter jolts and shivers.

“Finn,” he whispers, sweet doe eyes glimmering with emotion, “please, come on, I’ve waited long enough-”

Finn smiles and leans down to kiss him, slow and tender brushes of of their mouths together, and when Seth exhales, Finn draws back to watch as he pushes his fingers into the younger man. A little surprised gasp escapes Seth and he catches his lower lip in his teeth, belly heaving. Another slow push, a slick glide, and Finn’s finger is in up to his knuckle.

Seth gulps in air, smiling. “Wow. It _really_ has been some time.”

“You’ve not fingered yourself since you got here?” Finn asks. He kisses down the trail of soft, dark fuzz to a cute belly button, the inside of Seth’s right knee, up along his thigh, until his mouth is where his middle finger is buried in Seth, and his tongue licks around where he enters the young man. A whimpering mewl erupts from Seth’s throat, as edifying as a hymn to the Irishman, who does it again, kitten-light flicks of his tongue exploring the secret places of this beautiful young man who shares his bed, shares his home, shares his _life;_ another finger, and light sucking kisses now, leaving pink marks on pale skin. There are a few faint scars that Finn kisses and licks over, wishing in vain that he could erase them from existence, from them ever happening to lovely, trusting Seth.

“No, sir,” Seth replies, seemingly unaware of his slip of the tongue.

Finn has noticed, however, and has to pause for a moment before his control slips. He keeps his fingers busy, scissoring and curling, prodding very gently at the little nub of nerves inside that makes Seth’s cock twitch and drip. “You really have been waiting?” he says, full of wonder. “Because you wanted me to do it?”

“I knew... I knew you’d be gentle,” Seth mutters, eyes fluttering close and his mouth parting, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “I knew you won’t hurt me, you won’t ever hurt me, and I wanted that, I want that so much, I want- Finn, please, I _need-_ ”

It’s too much. Finn’s heart lurches in his chest and he kisses just under the tip of Seth’s cock before he sucks the glistening head into his mouth. Seth cries out in surprise, bucking, and Finn forces him to stay still with an arm across his hips. He pulls off, licks and kisses along the stiff, hot shaft, and then he pushes a third finger into Seth, his wrist turning and twisting as he slides his fingers in and out. The way the younger man looks now: his long hair a mess on the pillow, sticking to his face; his skin blush-pink with arousal and slick with sweat; his mouth open, panting, and his tongue swiping over his lips... Finn will happily  _torment_ him for hoursin _worship_ , bring him close to ecstasy and keep him there right on the edge, until he is thoroughly glutted on Seth’s surrender. Then he’ll let Seth come, and do it all over again.

“Please, Finn please please please, I can’t hold on, I need you _now_ ,” Seth begs, shameless in his need. Finn ignores his pleading, still sucking leisurely on Seth’s cock while fingering him, as thorough and careful as he's ever been, his tender cruelty bringing actual tears to the young man’s large, wild eyes, his long lashes shining in the light of the table lamp. Not for the first time, Finn is awestruck by how _beautiful_ Seth is. Seth will never know, but Finn understands why Hunter did what he did, because something about Seth brings out Finn's desire to wreck and  _desecrate._ His halo of dark brown curls fluffing about his cheeks, his perfectly-formed lips, that soft scruff shaping his jaw, and _those entrancing eyes-_

With a growl, Finn slips his fingers free and hoists Seth’s hips up, before he goes _down_ to taste, his mouth to Seth’s hole, his tongue sliding in easily. Unprepared for that, Seth _screams_ , voice cracking, knees bent, toes curling, and a babble of noises fall from him rapidly, nothing that Finn can really decipher outside of his own name. Relishing in the taste and sounds of the younger man, Finn keeps on lapping at his hole and fucking him with his tongue. Good Lord above, how Finn wants to spoil him, to _destroy_ him; he wants Seth to never be able to _think_ of sex without thinking of him.

He wants to claim Seth as his, forever and ever.

It’s terrifying, this desire; he thrusts his tongue into Seth, his hands spreading the younger man as wide as possible; if only he could crawl into him and devour him. Another growl; he trails his mouth and tongue up Seth’s body, unhurried but intent, exploring the dips and swells of muscle, suckling lightly on dark nipples and nuzzling the body hair over his chest, pressing his ear to that rise-and-fall of the ribcage, listening to the rapid pulse of his new lover’s heart. He hovers over Seth, pushes aside that mass of sweat-tangled hair to stare into deep brown eyes. The look in Seth’s eyes - his pupils have swallowed the warm brown - is at once trusting and nervous, full of awe and wonder and (Finn hopes) _love;_ if only it were possible to drown in them. Their bodies are slick against each other and Seth’s legs curl possessively around the older man's torso, just under his ribs, keeping him close, their erections nestled together.

“I want to hold you down,” Finn says, his voice barely more than a low rasp. He can still taste Seth and it’s _intoxicating_. “What is your safeword?”

“What?”

“What,” the Irishman repeats, an edge of impatience creeping into his tone, “is your safeword?”

Seth blinks up at him, and then whispers, “Penthouse. Safeword is penthouse.”

“Now give me your hands.” Finn waits until Seth complies, and then takes firm hold of strong wrists to cross them over Seth’s head. With his other hand, he guides his cock into the younger man, his gaze locked on Seth’s wide, sweetly shocked eyes as Finn thrusts into him.

Seth’s breathing is shallow and rapid, his tongue darting in and out to wet his lips until Finn is fully in him, and then he nearly _sobs_ with relief. He keeps his hands still, though his fingers flex and clench as he tries to relax against the welcome intrusion. Finn never stops watching him. All he sees - all he cares to see - is Seth. His free hand slides under a firm ass to trace where they are joined, prodding gently. Seth’s breath stutters into a shaky moan.

Finn takes Seth’s wrists with both hands. After another messy kiss, Finn cocks his hips back and snaps them forward, a greedy, hot pleasure spreading when Seth’s eyes widen and his mouth opens to inhale sharply. Finn does it again, and again, altering the angle slightly, until a hiccuping gasp breaks free. Finn smirks and leans down to fasten his mouth over Seth’s, drinking in the sounds as he pulls Seth’s wrists to the sides of his head, gripping so tightly that he hopes he leaves bruises. His hips pick up the pace, thrusting into Seth's hot, slick body. Strong wrists slide, shift, as if the younger man is finding it hard to remain in place, but Finn holds him down. Seth can only rock his own hips up and hook his ankles behind Finn, trying to have Finn _deeper_ in him.

Finn can’t stop kissing Seth, but he also can’t stop staring at those doe eyes, wide and desperate; he presses tender kisses over fragile eyelids, murmuring _a stór, a stór, mo chroí, tá tú go h-álainn, is aingeal thú;_ praise and prayer and hymn, over and over again.

“I don’t understand,” Seth whispers, panting hard, almost sobbing, “Finn, am I- am I good? Is this good? Am I good?”

“Yes, yes, so good,” Finn replies, his tongue thick and clumsy. He kisses Seth again. “Beautiful, my beautiful Seth, my sweetheart, _mo chroí_ -” His lips seek Seth’s mouth again, wanting to drown the younger man with love and praise. He lets go of Seth’s wrists to hike his hips up more; curls over him and cups his face, entangling his fingers in sweat-damp hair, tugging so Seth will _look at him._

The young man meets his eyes, vulnerable and wanting, a sheen of tears trailing down the sides of his temples into his hair. His fingers dig into the underside of Finn’s upper arms. Finn’s breath catches.

“Touch yourself now,” the Irishman orders, unwilling to look away from those glimmering doe eyes. “Do it for me, sweetheart, darling, look at me, keep your eyes on me, don’t look away-”

Seth obeys, tongue swiping over his upper lip, his chest heaving, one hand sliding between them to jerk himself off. He gazes helplessly at Finn, kiss-swollen lips trembling, color high in his cheeks and down his neck and all over his chest. Finn thrusts as hard and as deeply as he can go, hips flexing, his thighs beginning to burn with exertion, and just as he’s about to crest into his own climax, Seth chokes out a _Finn_ , a throaty, breathless moan, his eyelashes fluttering as he tries to keep his eyes open as commanded.

Slick spreads between them, smearing over their bellies. Finn grips Seth’s hair, firm but not so tight as to hurt, and pulls his head back to expose the lines of his throat. Burying his face in the crook of the young man’s neck, surrounded by his scent, Finn lets himself soar into his own climax, drowning in the blissful static of his pulse, thundering in his ears in the dark.

***

It’s morning. Seth can't bear to fully open his eyes, lest everything that happened last night was a dream. He can hear soft snoring, and he can feel the warm skin under his hands and the cool feet tucked against his own, and he _knows_ he's in Finn's apartment, in Finn's bed, in Finn's arms. (That's how they fell asleep after a shower together last night; Seth came a third time in the bathroom, taken apart by Finn's clever fingers while the older man kept him from crumpling to the tile from weak knees. He remembers being petted and praised as his hair was toweled and blown dry, and snuggling up to the Irishman, falling asleep to his heartbeat.)

But what if opening his eyes takes all that away?

The snores taper off to a mumble, then a grunt, and then Seth is pulled closer to the body behind him. A nose burrows into his curls, a beard tickles the nape of Seth's neck, and dry lips nibble on his spine.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Finn murmurs. “I can hear you thinking.”

Seth has to swallow down a surge of irrational relief. His fingers cling on Finn’s forearms. “I was just worried.”

Finn pulls so Seth rolls over to face him. “I’m here.”

 _How do you always understand?_ Seth wants to ask, but he only smiles at the sleepy Finn. He trails his fingers over Finn’s shoulder scar, his chest, wincing a little at the reddened marks where he tugged too hard on the leather harness last night (it’s on the floor somewhere - sometime during their second round, Finn got impatient and ripped it off with a curse, before he flipped Seth over on his belly), and circles his thumb around a dark brown nipple.

“That feels good,” Finn mumbles. There is a slight morning breath issue, but Seth’s breath doesn’t smell that great when he wakes up anyway. The older man is smiling when he asks, “Did you sleep well, sweetheart?” He noses the line of Seth’s jaw when the younger man nods. “I'm going to tell everyone you're my boyfriend now. Stake my claim and all.”

“Of course.” Seth’s response is shy but determined; it’s not _entirely_ what he wants, but it’s good enough. He can’t help but laugh softly when Finn pumps his fist in victory, but Seth’s slight hesitation catches the other man’s attention.

Finn props himself up on one elbow and peers down with great affection and tenderness. “What is it, love?”

Seth wants more than that. He’s being greedy, and he knows it, but he wants _more_. If Finn isn’t gazing at him with such obvious adoration, Seth might not have said a word.

“I want to... I want to _belong_ to you,” he blurts out. “I know it’s only been a couple of months since we met, but I want... I want to wear - a collar, maybe, something that _shows-_ ”

“Hush,” Finn says, finger on Seth’s lips. The look in his eyes is infinitely tender, taking away the sting of his stopping Seth from confessing. “Sweetheart, you don’t know enough about me to decide that yet.”

“But I want you to own me.”

“So do I.” Finn’s expression darkens, just a fleeting moment, and then his smile grows a little sad. “I want to make you mine. More than anything, I want you to belong completely to me. But I know we’re not ready for that yet.” He brushes his finger over Seth’s soft mouth. “You have to live belonging to yourself for a bit. And then, if you still want to submit to me, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Seth forces down the lump of disappointment. “When?”

“A year?” Finn suggests. Kissing Seth softly on his lips, he adds, with some trepidation, “I don’t really know, love. I’ve never been in a committed relationship. I think we'll know when we know.”

A frown creases Seth’s forehead. “But Tyler and Joe-”

“Tyler was a client until recently. Joe and I are friendly and we trust each other. Neither of them are mine, not in the way you mean,” Finn says. “Do you want me to break it off with them?” Reluctance colors his every word, but he’s offered it anyway, which means the world to Seth.

“No, of course not.” Perhaps it was because he’s been with Hunter, and has been an afterthought in his association with that man; Finn’s immediate willingness to put him first is all he needs to feel reassured. He shuffles so he’s tucked up against the other man. “I like Tyler and Joe. Differently. And I know how important you are to Tyler, and you and Joe have been together for years.”

“Not _together,_ ” Finn corrects with a tired chuckle. “My thing with Joe is... complicated.” He presses a kiss to Seth’s forehead. “So you’re okay with me sleeping with them sometimes?”

A thought occurs to Seth, something that he knows would have enraged Hunter, for all that the bastard handed Seth over to his acquaintances like a WiFi password. Finn, on the other hand, has proven himself to be opposite in temperament to Hunter in many ways. Maybe in this too.

“I’m not... I mean, I’m definitely okay with you being with them, and I’m not trying to be greedy, but-” Seth racks his brain for the words. It’s safe here, he knows it’s safe; he is in Finn’s arms, in his bed, and they are vulnerable and open to each other. “I want them too. If they’d have me.”

Finn laughs quietly, delighted and charmed, and gropes Seth's ass, squeezing. “You’re proposing an open relationship?”

“If it means us getting intimate with people other than each other, then yes?” Seth feels very young and inexperienced then. He knows it’s an option - he’s been reading up - but he’s not _sure_. “But not like... I don’t like the idea of you sleeping with someone I don’t know or like.”

(It’s stupid, it’s _stupid_ and _selfish._ Hunter frequently used to fuck Seth and other people at the same time, any person that caught Hunter’s eye that he could lure to his bed, and sometimes Seth was the one they shared; what right does Seth have to ask this? Seth and Finn have only just begun sleeping together, he doesn't _belong_ to Finn yet, he doesn’t have a claim on Finn at all-)

“Of course.” Finn runs his fingers through Seth’s hair and plays with the long strands. “I’ll inform my clients as well of the new rule. Do you mind if I use my hands on them? Or just toys?”

Seth is so surprised that he sits up, nearly headbutting the older man. “You mean... You don’t have to change anything at the Playroom for me, I mean, I-I didn’t...”

“Sweetheart,” Finn says, propping himself up on his elbows, “I’m not going to fuck other people that you haven’t met and approved of, and that’s true for my clients. I also expect that you get my approval before you sleep with someone other than me.” He flops back down on his pillow, but his gaze remains on Seth’s astonished face. “So? May I penetrate them with my hands? Or just toys?”

“Toys and hands are fine,” says Seth weakly. Of course, whether Finn follows through is his own decision; he may be fucking all of his clients the rest of this week and Seth would never know, but the mere fact that Finn is willing to offer this much... “Finn,” he says, helplessly in love and unsure of what he should do to _show_ it. “ _Finn._ ”

The older man motions for Seth to snuggle close, and they spend the rest of the morning pleasantly tangled up beneath warm blankets, until Finn’s own alarm rings and they have to face the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a stór, a stór, mo chroí, tá tú go h-álainn, is aingeal thú: darling, darling, my heart, you are beautiful, you are an angel


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with three proposals and no phone sex (damn it).

Cedric keeps his word - for the most part; he doesn’t _say_ anything about Joe (to Mustafa) for the next _two days_ , though he _does_ glare at the roses when they’re at their desks. (Dana has insisted on Mustafa keeping them at the precinct, on his desk, to _spruce up this dreary place with some_ romance _, you majestic love moose!)_

“Will you _stop_ that?” Mustafa finally asks that afternoon, the two of them settled in their squad car, exasperation in his voice, a little amusement hiding behind it. He’s just texted Joe and got a photo of him with Becky, the latter showing off the stitches across her palm, and he knows he's grinning as he set his phone into his pocket.

Cedric sniffs delicately, his hands on the wheel, and replies, “Stop what, ‘Stafa? I’m not doing anything.”

Mustafa snorts softly, dark eyes rolling. “No, it’s not like you’ve been trying to wilt the flowers Joe sent me with the force of your glare or anything.” Cedric huffs and doesn’t respond. “Ced, c’mon.” He balls up a napkin from their breakfast and tosses it directly at his partner’s face, satisfaction filling him when it bounces off the other man’s temple, and Cedric turns to scowl at him. “What’s the issue _now_?”

“He hasn’t even tried to _see_ you,” is the surly response.

Bemused, Mustafa blinks a few times. “Who? Joe?”

“No - Barack.” The dry sarcasm makes Mustafa laugh. “Of course I mean _him_.”

Sighing, the smaller man raises his index finger. “Alright, first: Stop using that tone when you mention him?” Cedric doesn’t say anything, so Mustafa moves on, lifting another finger. “Second: We’ve been texting, as you are aware, and he called me last night.”

His face fills with a warm heat as he recalls the low rumble of Joe’s voice, the playful way he’d asked Mustafa what he was wearing; the heat intensifies at the memory of the selfie he’d taken, shirtless and wet from the shower, like he’d wanted to send the night of their failed date. Joe’s voice had gone even deeper, sending a pleasant shiver down Mustafa’s spine before Paige’s voice had come through the background, apologizing for pulling him away from _your phone sex session, boss man, but Lana and her grunting brute need to speak with you_.

“God.” Cedric pretends to gag. “Please get that look off your face; I didn’t need to know about your sexting or your phone sex stuff.” Another fake gag.

“Are we twelve years old again? Can’t we talk about sex without acting like preteens?” asks Mustafa, even as his cheeks burn hotter. “And so what if that’s what we were doing? We’re both consenting adults and equally attracted to each other; there’s nothing wrong with it!”

Sighing, the black man is the one to roll his eyes this time. “I’m not saying there’s anything _wrong_ with it, Moose.” He sounds frustrated, and Mustafa frowns. “I’m _saying_ \- how do you know that wasn’t all he wanted?” Cedric flips the turn signal, makes a sharp left; Mustafa has to brace himself against the door. “I know you, ‘Stafa,” he says quietly, braking behind a row of cars; there seems to be something happening at the intersection, but Mustafa can’t clearly make it out. “One night stands aren’t your thing; you get _invested_ \- and you’re invested in this _bar owner_.”

“Joe,” corrects Mustafa. “His name is Joe, Cedric.”

“ _Joe_ , then,” Cedric mutters sourly. “You’re invested in _Joe_.”

Horns are sounding in front of them, at the start of the small traffic jam. “A little,” Mustafa admits, then, “Haven’t we already had this conversation?”

Cedric huffs. “Humor me.”

“Fine.” Mustafa sighs and fiddles with a loose thread at his knee - he’ll have to fix that later. “I want- I _really_ want more, Ced. A relationship with him, you know? I don’t know if it’s too soon to ask about being _exclusive_ , though, if he’d even want to be. He's got his life the way he likes it, and... I don't know.”

His partner seems to struggle with the two sides of himself - the side that wants to protect Mustafa, and the one that wants to support him; both sides are still part of Mustafa’s best friend, though, so he ends up telling Mustafa, reluctant though he seems, “He’d be an idiot to not want you in his life, Moose. I don’t get why _you_ want _him_ in _your_ life, but whatever.” He taps his fingers impatiently on the wheel, craning to attempt to see what the problem is, then freezes.

“Ced?” Mustafa’s brow furrows, alarm filling him, and he shifts in his own seat, trying to see what Cedric has noticed. “Cedric, what’s wrong?”

“Moose,” Cedric says, and there’s a quiet sort of _glee_ in his voice. Mustafa stops trying to peer over the cars in front of them, looking at Cedric instead, at the wide grin spreading over his best friend’s face.

Wary, Mustafa questions, “What, Ced?”

“If you’re considering a relationship with this dude,” he answers, not even grimacing at the word _relationship_ , “you know who he’s gotta meet.” Mustafa lifts an eyebrow. “ _Mama_ ,” Cedric tells him triumphantly.

Mustafa hums. He loves Mama Alexander like his own (and, if he's really,  _really_ honest about it, just a smidge more). “I mean, we’re not even actually _dating_ , Ced. Isn’t it too soon to even think about ‘meeting the family’ stuff?”

Cedric finally releases the steering wheel to clap Mustafa on the shoulder. “Of course not, Moose! You know Mama always wants to meet everyone important in your life.” Mustafa is touched, for just a moment, until- “She’ll be able to see right through him, and then it won’t be just me who sees that you deserve better!”

Two people - a short man with a swooping sort of haircut, half of it in his eyes, and a tall, slender woman with platinum blonde hair and warm brown skin and the longest legs Mustafa has seen on anyone in his life - are out of their cars, in the middle of the intersection, screeching at each other, the woman getting in the man’s face, hair flying as she gestures angrily back at the vehicles, waving her phone around.

Cedric and Mustafa undo their seatbelts, both halfway out of the car when a sharp _slap_ , the crack of skin on skin, is heard in the heartbeat of silence between car honks.

When all is said and done, backup is called - Dana and Titus happen to be closest, once again - and the woman is tucked into the back of their squad car, protocol demanding arrested women to be in the presence of at least one female officer, and the man - Noam, Mustafa learns - is in the back of theirs.

“Now,” Cedric says, slamming the back passenger door on the man still arguing with him. “Sunday dinner at Mama’s, Moose. How about it?”

Mustafa sighs and waves his hand, getting into the car on the driver’s side this time. “Fine, you nag.” He starts up the engine, both of them ignoring the accented voice of the man in the backseat screaming at them to let him out. “I’ll ask him. No promises.”

***

Joe is finishing up the sauce for the buffalo wings when he hears Finn and Seth walk into the kitchen. He tilts his head, listening more attentively, then grins. “So you two finally did it. Should I offer congratulations?”

“How the _fuck-_ ” Finn sounds exasperated. “You’re a right arsehole, you know that? Who told you?”

“No one,” Joe answers truthfully, then goes to wash his hands before he turns around to study the two of them more closely. Seth is blushing but not shying away from a direct gaze, his side pressed close to Finn, and Finn’s hand is placed possessively low on the younger man’s back.

Obvious as a supernova, in Joe’s eyes.

He walks over, returning a stray knife to its rightful place. Outside of sexting with Mustafa, he’s been spending his free time watching Marie Kondo on Netflix, and has been inspired to tidy up his kitchen. His armory and private dojo are already organized enough that he's not worried about his belongings not _sparking joy._ “So why are you both here? I don’t have leftovers from family dinner.”

“We’ve already eaten, Mr Joe,” Seth says. “But I could help?”

“You have to go to work soon, sweetheart,” Finn reminds him fondly. To Joe, a lot less fondly, he says, “I've things to discuss with you. Your office?”

Joe exhales and wipes his hands on a towel. “Alright then, Seth, you’re on fryer duty. Start this next batch - remember to set the timer - then tell Paige the first batch of wings are done.”

“Yes, Mr Joe,” Seth replies dutifully.

Joe pretends to scowl at him. “Is Finn a member of the public?”

“Um, no?” Seth’s eyes are wide, looking from Joe to Finn and back.

Knowing _exactly_ what Joe is about to do, Finn makes a rude sound and rolls his eyes in exasperation before heading to the door. Poor manners, truly. Joe captures him and applies a rear naked choke (very gently, all things considered), ignoring Finn's flailing arms. “Don’t you dare run. Seth, how are you supposed to address me in private?”

Seth goes bright pink again and he mumbles something. Finn struggles and Joe tightens the hold. “We couldn’t hear you, kid. Come on, say it out loud.”

“Yes, Daddy,” the young man says, flushing, eyes cast downwards and fidgeting with his hands.

Joe lets go of Finn, who cusses him out and massages his throat. “Was that really necessary?” Finn complains. “Seth, sweetheart, don’t call this bastard ‘Daddy’ ever again. See how he bullies me.”

“Not your choice, dickhead,” says Joe, winking at Seth, who turns and practically flees to the deep fryer. Fun and games over, Joe and Finn go to the office in the back of the bar. Making himself comfortable in his chair and leaving Finn the shitty plastic one, Joe asks, “What’s got your panties in a bunch now?”

“You know special requests like lingerie cost extra.” Finn manages to lounge in the crappy chair and prop his feet on the table, only for them to be knocked off by Joe. “Two matters. Business or pleasure?”

Joe’s phone buzzes - it’s Mustafa, sending a message. He sets his phone aside for now. Hopefully he gets another naked selfie from Mustafa; once past his initial shyness, that young cop is extremely willing to follow where Joe leads. “Business.”

“Someone wants to extend you an offer.” Finn tilts his head and slides a folded piece of paper across the table. “A hundred grand, and you won’t have to fly out of state. Target is coming into town for some film premiere.”

“That means lots of cameras and publicity and a high-profile target.” Joe rubs his thumb on his chin, not taking the slip of paper. “It sounds good, hundred grand, but the trouble after that?”

“He’s coming in four days early.” Leaving the paper in the middle of the table, Finn takes out his butterfly knife and plays with it, a sure sign that he’s antsy. “That part of the itinerary is secret.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be going legit?”

Finn smiles thinly. “Anyone else, I’d have turned down the offer. But take a look, Joe.”

Still wary, the Samoan takes the paper and unfolds it. Then he feels a deep well of loathing spread through him, along with malicious satisfaction. _EC3._ Ethan Carter III bought over a company that manufactures medicine for people with sickle cell anemia, and hiked up the price over thirty times. Joe has wanted to get his hands on that douchebag ever since the orphaned teen of one of his earliest contacts died from being unable to afford the medicine. (Joe had gone dark in Tahiti on a job at the time, or he’d have made sure she got the money from one of his caches.) “Pharma wasn’t lucrative enough?”

“Starlets, man,” Finn says, because that explains a lot about why EC3 will leave his fortress of a home to where anyone can get to him, and snaps the knife closed. “Come on, Joe. I’m not even gonna take a cut.”

“Twenty grand for me,” says Joe, putting his mark on the paper, “and the rest goes to the usual charities. But set ten grand solely for sickle cell.”

He knows better than to ask who is paying. Finn has always been the perfect middleman, setting up the contracts without either side ever knowing who’s paying and who’s getting their hands dirty. There is a reason why Joe has stuck with Finn all these years - he is a consummate professional. There is still a handful who seek him out personally, of course, but that also means Joe knows everything he can dig up about _them_.

Finn smiles and retrieves the folded slip of paper. “On to pleasure then. How is your cute cop? Mustafa, wasn’t it?”

“Doing just fine.” Joe narrows his eyes at the grinning Irishman. “You leave him alone.”

“It’s not fair, though. Everyone has met him but me.”

“Everyone else won’t try to flirt their way into Mustafa’s pants,” Joe points out. The Irishman looks entirely unrepentant for the half a dozen times he’s done that exact thing with Joe’s little diversions. “I want to enjoy this one solo for now.”

“Well,” Finn says, eyes dancing with glee, “what about enjoying Seth in tandem with me?” He smirks at Joe’s one raised eyebrow, and explains, “Seth has hinted that he’ll like to thank you _properly_ for saving him.”

Joe taps his fingers on his desk. He’s not discussed exclusivity with Mustafa; he doesn’t think their trysts will go on long enough for that to be an issue. Leaning back in his chair, he jerks his chin for Finn to continue.

“I adore our bratty princess, and I'll miss your dick if I can't get it. So Seth's suggesting that we have an open relationship, with the caveat that we have to meet and approve of any person the other one wants to sleep with,” Finn says. Before Joe can interrupt, he adds, “Playroom-wise, I’ve notified my clients. But this is about you. In my professional opinion as a dom, I trust you, and personally, I very much enjoy having sex with you - and Seth wants to sleep with both of us. So how about it?”

“Threesome? You and I are going to end up fighting.”

“We fight when it’s just us two, because you're a violent asshole and it's fun. But with Seth... Joe, you’d want to spoil him _senseless_.”

“I had him on his knees before you did, bitch.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you.”

“ _No one_ is fucking me,” Joe reminds Finn coolly. The latter grins; he’s been trying to persuade Joe, but the big man has not budged on this for fifteen years. (He has bottomed before. He didn’t enjoy it and has no desire to repeat the experience.) He drums his fingers and muses over the idea of Seth, bound and blindfolded, subject to his whims, Joe pulling on Seth's long hair to expose his throat for the marking. Desire and curiosity unfurl in his gut. “Yes, I can see him trying his best to please us both.” The young man practically  _glows_ when he's praised, but Joe wants to make Seth  _earn_ every compliment. Unlike Finn, whose words of praise fall too easily, Joe prefers to use them when they're deserved, and he is  _certain_ that Seth will be determined to show he deserves them.

Finn’s smile is both promising and far too gleeful. “It’s a date then. I’ll tell him and arrange it for one of our less busy afternoons.” Then he wheedles, “Come _on_ , let me meet Mustafa. Maybe I can rope him into a foursome.”

“No. You stay well away from him,” Joe warns, and stands up. “Set up the contract. Send me as much detail as you or the buyer can get me about the itinerary, security team, and about the event he's here for. At least a full day of observation - cutting it too close for my liking, to be honest.” Before they leave the office, he takes Finn by the elbow. “You heard about the meeting Seth’s arranged with his friends?”

All mirth drains from Finn’s face. “Yeah. I’m gonna be here for him. I have a feeling it’s going to turn ugly.”

Joe nods. While they never acknowledge it, Finn’s sixth sense about such matters is uncannily acute, and by now Joe knows not to question it. He follows Finn into the kitchen, where the Irishman immediately heads for Seth to kiss him and whisper in his ear. Judging by the color that floods Seth’s cheeks, Finn has told him that Joe is amenable to a session.

“Come here,” he says, and the young man walks over, eyes bright, all perked up like a puppy. _Put a collar and a tail on him..._ Joe cups the nape of Seth’s neck, resting their foreheads together. The younger man goes quiet and still, completely relaxed in Joe’s hold. _What a change from when I first saw you,_ Joe thinks, and murmurs, “I can’t wait to play with you.” With a sly smirk directed at Finn, who rolls his eyes because he can guess what’s about to happen, Joe says, “Call me ‘daddy’ again.”

Seth blinks rapidly, before muttering, “Daddy.”

“Good boy,” says Joe, grinning, and kisses him on the lips. Seth’s beard tickles slightly, reminding Joe of Mustafa, and it’s the reminder that gets him to deepen the kiss a little more, before he pulls away, licking his lips. Somewhat dazed, Seth blinks at him again, and Finn tugs Seth back towards him with a glare at Joe, before he _dips_ a very surprised Seth and plants a filthy kiss that, after a moment, has the younger man moaning and clutching his shoulders. Satisfied, Finn helps Seth steady himself and quirks his eyebrows at Joe.

“Right in front of the wings too.” The big man snorts. “Alright, you two. Get outta my kitchen.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Mustafa makes suggestions and Joe despairs at text language.

The text he’s received from Mustafa is decidedly _not_ a nude selfie (to Joe’s immense disappointment), but rather an invitation.

_‘feel free to say no first of all but i gave my word id ask. cedrics mom has sunday dinner when ced and i are off. u up for free food? mama a is a great cook’_

Joe leans back in his office chair, the sounds of Paige and Becky finishing the night’s prep traveling in through the open doors between his office, the storeroom, and the main bar, all pleasantly familiar sounds. He and Mustafa haven’t had the chance to meet again, texts and photos ( _Christ, the photos_ ) and phone calls over the last couple of days making his days and nights ever the more interesting - and now an invitation to what amounts to a “family dinner”.

_‘Meet the family time already, baby?’_

It’s meant to be teasing, an offhand remark to give himself a moment to think of his response, but Mustafa replies immediately, a little hint of panic in the text.

_‘no! i mean... well mama and ced are practically family so i guess its sort of like that? but its not like ur ‘meeting the fam’ meeting the fam u know?’_

Joe is inordinately charmed at the rambling style, even as he twitches at the texting shorthand, the lack of punctuation. (It reminds him of _Finn,_ goddammit, and _honestly_ , how much time are they saving by typing ‘u’ instead of a proper ‘you’?) He hears Paige’s laugh through the doors, Becky’s responding huff, and the distinct sound of a damp washcloth smacking against flesh, making him fight back a grin as he rolls his eyes, fiddling with his phone before he responds.

_‘Excellent explanation, baby. Very clear.’_

_‘hardy har har’_ is the retort, the tone clearer than the Los Angeles sky. _‘ur a smart guy i know u know what i mean’_

Joe is amused. _‘You have such a high opinion of me. I’m flattered, truly.’_ He almost leaves it at that, but can’t help himself. _‘Your work husband, on the other hand… Does he know you’re inviting me to meet his mother, of all people?’_

There’s a few minutes of radio silence, and then-

 _‘plz never call cedric my husband in any context ever again’_ Joe has no hope of stopping the bark of laughter this time, but he cuts it short when the sounds from the bar pause, the girls having obviously heard him; they restart after a moment, and Joe considers rising to shut his office door, but Mustafa shoots another text before he makes a decision. _‘and hes the 1 who suggested i invite u so u can get ot know each other’_

(Joe highly doubts that is the reason, but he’ll play nice - for now.)

Before he can reply, Joe gets a text from Finn, giving him the time and place for a meet in the morning - Joe’s favorite place in the area, with some of the best char siu pork Joe’s ever had. Joe has typed half of his reply when another message comes through.

_‘u can get ur cop to meet us there our business is done’_

There’s another twitch. _‘Fuck off.’_

_‘show me the cop or show me ur dick’_

_‘Learn how to spell actual words first.’_

_‘nvr stopped u before’_

Joe doesn’t deign to respond, eyes rolling to the ceiling, returning to Mustafa’s thread; that persistent Irish bastard is just going to make fun and then bug him nonstop if he doesn’t get to meet Mustafa soon. With an exasperated sigh, Joe types, _‘If I have to meet Cedric’s mother, then you have to meet my friends’_ and sends it.

 _‘ive alredy met paige n becky’_ is the reply, followed by a winking emoji and a kissy face emoji.

Good _Christ_ , Joe can’t _stand_ that he finds Mustafa’s use of emojis adorable instead of annoying. Of course Mustafa’s insinuation that he only has two friends can’t be ignored, so Joe replies, ‘ _Not just the girls. And you’re paying for that bit of sass, baby. Family dinner at the bar on the following Thursday after meeting Mrs A.’_ He thinks about it, and adds, _‘Wear those tight black jeans - the one you wore to our first date - and bring a change of clothes. I’d like you to stay the night.’_

Mustafa doesn’t reply, so Joe assumes the cop is back to work and gets back to prepping more wings. Rhyno’s got him a good deal for them, but it also means Joe has enough wings for the entire week. He’s going to reek of frying oil by the end of the night. At least Paige and Becky are selling them well - lots of orders tonight. He’s mixing up the third batch of sauce when Becky comes in for two orders of wings, followed by Mustafa, still in uniform.

She winks at Joe. “No hanky panky in here,” she warns jokingly, before strolling out of the kitchen.

“Please tell me Cedric isn’t outside terrorizing my customers,” Joe says by way of greeting. Smiling, he leans over and kisses the younger man. “Just came off duty?”

“I can’t promise Ced’s not terrorizing your customers, but he is waiting on the sidewalk and I can’t stay long,” the young cop answers, tugging Joe’s arm around his waist despite his words. “We’re grabbing some dinner from the New Day diner and bringing them back to the precinct. They’re having a two-for-one late night special, but they don't provide delivery at this hour.” Mustafa sniffs. “Wow. That smells delicious.”

Joe sighs. “Not after a couple hours of doing nothing but frying them. Want some?” Frowning slightly, he asks, “Can you eat them? My kitchen’s not halal.”

Mustafa looks a little guilty. “I’m not super observant, to be honest. I mean, I perform salaat and I do go to the mosque when my work allows for it, but diet-wise I just avoid foods that are haram. It’s too troublesome otherwise, especially since I’m always out at different parts of the city at different hours. And of course the whole gay thing is...” He sighs and shrugs. “Don’t worry about the food.”

“Send me a list of ingredients that you don’t want me to use, then, alright?” Joe pecks Mustafa on the cheek and nuzzles his hair, breathing him in. The young man smells nice, despite the scent of pine air freshener and too much sugary coffee. “See you Thursday. About eight would be good. Pretend I care and tell Cedric I said hi, and that I look forward to meeting his mom.”

“Both of you are terrible.” The young cop smiles and kisses him on the lips. His cheeks turn a little pink when he adds, “Can I come back at closing?”

“I won’t say no to that.”

Mustafa then leans up and whispers in Joe’s ear, though there are only two of them in the kitchen. Joe’s smile widens as he listens to the younger man’s request, and pulls him in for a quick but filthy kiss. They're both a little breathless when they part. “I’m gonna hold you to _that_ , baby. See you later.”

***

By the time Mustafa gets back to _Samoa Joe’s_ after he goes home to grab a change of clothes, it’s nearly two in the morning, and a handsy couple collide into him as they stumble out of the bar. Becky whoops when she sees him, and Paige calls out, “Loverboy’s here!”

“I am firing both of you,” Joe threatens as he walks out of the back, armed with a mop and pail that he sets on the floor. He strolls up to the furiously blushing Mustafa and kisses him, to the raucous cheers from the women. “I only told these two dumbasses that you’re dropping by at closing and to tell you to come in the back door.”

“We don’t need innuendos for your sex life, boss man!” Becky teases, and ducks the wet washcloth that Joe flings at her.

Mustafa laughs, bashful and warm. “I can help clean up,” he offers.

“They’re paid to work, baby. You’ve had a long day, you should go wait in my office.” Joe glares at the two young women. “Although I’m still going to fire their lazy asses afterwards.”

“Promises, promises,” Becky says, but she gets back to wiping down tables and placing chairs atop them.

Since Joe is adamant that Mustafa doesn’t do any work, the latter ventures into the back of the bar, past the stockroom, and goes into a narrow, dark-walled office. Joe is a neat man, he notices, with clearly-labeled black folders like _licenses_ and _invoices_ placed on a wall shelf. Joe’s leather chair is slightly battered, while the other clear plastic chair looks uncomfortable. There is a faded green sofa tucked against a wall, presumably for times when Joe wants a bit of a rest (though he can't imagine the big man napping during opening hours), and a leather jacket and a black messenger bag have been tossed on it. Mustafa smiles to himself. He’s read somewhere that some places are designed to be uncomfortable for the visitor, so that they won’t linger for too long, but the low sofa looks really cozy.

 _Maybe it can hold both of us,_ he muses. Heat unfurls low in his belly, and he hurriedly looks away. There's time for that later.

A white mug, half-full of coffee and probably gone cold, sits by a tablet, while an old photograph featuring Polynesian dancers takes pride of place as the sole decoration on the desk, next to a desk lamp. One of the walls is overlaid with steel, and dozens of thumb-sized fridge magnets from - Mustafa peers at them - different parts of the US and from the rest of the world decorate it, pinning orders, name cards, and bills to the wall. He thinks it’s endearing that Joe collects fridge magnets; the big guy never mentioned it in their many text messages. Then again, most of their texts involved Mustafa sending photos of himself in various stages of undress while Joe teased him with what he'd do to the young cop if he was there. Mustafa has had to change his phone's passcode so Cedric won't inadvertently come across something that'll make him screech. (Dana is right, though; sexting is _fun_.)

Spying one from Chicago, the young man takes it from the wall for closer examination. It’s of the Adler Planetarium. Mustafa’s parents used to take him and his sister when they were still kids. He’s not been there since his family moved away. As he puts it back, his fingers fumble and he drops the magnet.

“Shit,” Mustafa mutters, and picks it up hurriedly. There’s a series of numbers scrawled on the back of the magnet. Frowning, Mustafa squints at the tiny handwriting: _071199_. He puzzles over the numbers, and then guesses what it means.

 _He even labels the date he got his fridge magnets._ Mustafa grins, charmed by Joe’s meticulousness. He pops the magnet back in place, and prises another off, this one of _Kuala Lumpur_ and its twin towers. _051001._ May 10, 2001. He puts the magnet back and then plops down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, his knee bouncing. He hopes he can really carry out what he’s planned, but he’s not sure if his nerves will hold out.

Paige pokes her head into the office. “Bye loverboy,” she says on her raspy voice, smiling broadly. “Do your best to relax Joe, yeah? Someone needs to get that stick outta his arse, and you're the best candidate for the job.”

“Paige, come on, our ride's here!” Becky calls out from the front of the bar.

“Keep your knickers on, I'm coming!” Paige hollers back. She turns back to Mustafa. “Toss me my jacket and bag, will ya? Thanks. Have a _great_ night.”

Once the girls are gone and the doors locked, Joe comes into the office and scoops Mustafa into a kiss. Damn, Mustafa has missed being kissed by Joe; the firmness of older man's grip, the way he reels Mustafa in and then keeps him in place with a hand on the back of Mustafa's neck, the utter confidence of getting Mustafa to respond to his touches.

“Someone promised me uniforms,” Joe says, his voice a low purr when he lets go of Mustafa.

The younger man grins. “Well, first I wanna ask if you're okay with handcuffs. Consent is sexy and all that.”

Joe raises his eyebrows. “Not the official ones, I hope? Those don't look comfortable.” He smiles wolfishly. “Not that I'm opposed to putting you in them; I'm going to be real honest and confess that I've imagined you in cuffs quite often since we met.”

With a blush of pleasure, Mustafa digs through his overnight bag, retrieving a set of fluffy purple cuffs. Taking it from him, Joe laughs, and Mustafa shrugs, bashful and amused in equal measure. “There was a sale where I usually get my toys and I thought... You know. I thought they'd be fun.”

“And the uniform?” Joe takes the cuffs and tests it for strength.

“These were from last Halloween so don't laugh if they're too tight.”

The older man chuckles. “You dressed up as a cop for Halloween?”

“Matching stripper cop outfits with Cedric,” Mustafa admits. “We lost a bet.”

Joe stops laughing, but the amusement remains, tinged with anticipation. “Stripper cops?”

The younger man reaches into his bag and retrieves a pair of navy shorts. His cheeks are very warm and embarrassment floods his body, but it's gratifying to see Joe's eyes darken. He nibbles on his lower lip shyly and stuffs the shorts back into his bag.

Joe grins _that_ grin, the one that sends butterflies fluttering in Mustafa's stomach. “Well, _Officer Ali,_ I think you should get in uniform right now.”

***

Finn delivers a pack of handwritten notes in person to Paige, together with photocopies of flight details and an address. The young woman lounges against the vinyl seat of the little Cantonese diner in Chinatown where they’ve arranged to meet, and takes the manila folder with a “thank you”. They then place orders for lunch; it's one of Joe's favorite eateries in the whole city and Finn knows the menu by heart.

“I was supposed to meet your boss,” Finn says, grinning. “What happened?”

Paige rolls her eyes. “He was fooling around in the office when we closed up and was indisposed this morning on account of Cute Cop.”

The Irishman frowns, slightly bemused. “He _told_ you that?”

She grins at him mischievously. “I walked in on them when I dropped in to pick up my spare battery. Cute Cop is a _snuggler_. Boss wanted to take my head off when I snapped a pic but he didn't dare move and wake his precious boyfriend, so he sent me here in his stead. I may be murdered when I get back, but it's worth it.”

Finn motions for her to pass the phone over. Indeed, there is a somewhat blurry image of a lithe young man sprawled over Joe, both of them on Joe's old sofa, his face half buried against the Samoan's neck, acres of smooth brown skin on display except where Joe's covered his ass with a shirt. Long limbs, black hair. Squinting, Finn thinks the shirt is actually a cop's uniform, and there is something purple and fuzzy on the ground. He gleefully sends the photo to himself, and then texts Joe that _“purple is not ur color”._ Their lunch arrives just as he returns the phone to Paige.

“Tell your boss there’s been a slight change in plans.” The other customers are chatting away loudly in different languages, the clack of chopsticks and raucous laughter sufficiently masking anything Finn is saying. “That fella’s not staying with his new squeeze; he’s rented a house and flying in his entire security team.”

“That’s gonna make things a lot harder,” Paige remarks. Her makeup is much more subdued than usual, and her hair is up in a messy bun. She eats a wonton and adds, “Any suggestions?”

“The guy’s vegan, and my source says he’s buying his food from this place.” Finn slides a name card across the table. “They’re a power couple. Husband grows the food. His wife’s the brains of the biz. They cater to a very select clientele.” The Irishman smiles. “And apparently, they hired a chef recently for a fortnight working exclusively for our guy.”

Studying the name card, Paige smiles like a razor wire. “That’s the way in.”

Finn echoes the smile. “That’s the way in.” He pops a slice of char siu into his mouth. “Luke will drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't that a great Wrestlemania?
> 
> Also, next chapter: ANGST & PAIN :) -PQ


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with Angst and Pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab some comfort food, a snuggable toy, and settle in.

When Roman, Dean and Renee walk into _Samoa Joe’s_ , Seth feels a lurch of panic in his throat, though he’s the one who asked them to come here. He chose the bar, because this is a safe space and he knows he’s protected; Joe is in his kitchen, Paige and Becky manning the bar. Finn is at a different booth with Karl and Luke, the three of them talking about someone named Bryan, while two other customers are seated near the TV (a tiny blonde and a hulking giant of a man). Dr Shelby has listened to what Seth plans to say and that has further reassured him.

Renee lights up when she spies Seth getting to his feet in the corner booth and hurries over. He smiles at her, genuinely pleased to see her here in LA, and offers a hug that she reciprocates. For all that he has only known her for about two months before he moved away, he still thinks she’s one of the nicest people he’s ever met, and he’s glad that she’s still with Dean.

“You look good, Seth!” she exclaims.

“Thanks, Renee,” he says, eyes darting up to look at Dean and Roman. The latter seems mostly relieved, while Dean... Dean's expression is inscrutable. It’s always been hard for Seth to read Dean when there’s tension between them. Seth offers a tentative smile anyway. “Hi, guys.”

“Hey.” Roman steps forward and embraces Seth, as if Seth didn't leave them behind, didn't keep them at arm’s length for the entire duration of his relationship with Hunter, as if he hasn't stopped contacting them for two whole months for no apparent reason.

As if Seth’s already forgiven before he has spoken a word.

Roman lets go after a firm pat on Seth’s back, then steps back to look at him. His gaze is gentle and a small smile plays on his lips. God, Seth's almost forgotten how _beautiful_ Roman is, and the intervening five years has only sharpened the definition of his jawline and his muscles, taking off a lot of his bulk from his football-playing years. Photos don't do him justice. “It’s good to see you, Seth.”

Dean stuffs his hands in his jeans. He looks more careworn now, his hair buzzed short, less of that reckless, rebellious teenager who always teetered on the edge of causing a fight. His facial hair makes him look older too, for all that he is Seth's age. “Yeah, what he said.”

Seth can’t help feeling a small sting of rejection, but he gestures to the booth. Renee looks at them all, and says, “You know what, guys? This is your time. I’m gonna go sit at the bar for now.” She hugs Seth again and then mutters something in Dean’s ear, before staring at him meaningfully.

Heaving a sigh, Dean slides into the seat and crosses his arms. He looks bored, which means that he doesn’t really want to be here, but Seth still appreciates that he is. Roman takes the outside seat and looks around for a drinks list.

Paige comes over and hands one to Roman. “Your usual, baby boy?” she asks Seth.

“Yes, please, thank you,” Seth answers.

“Do y’all have anything to eat?” Dean asks, eyeing Seth as he speaks. There’s a certain brittleness to him now and Seth doesn’t know what to do about it, or if he can do anything about it. 

Paige shrugs. “I’ll get the kitchen to whip up something. Wings good for you?”

“Sounds good,” says Roman with a warm smile.

Once Paige has their drinks orders and leaves, Dean rests his cheek on one fist, his elbow propped on the table. “ _Baby boy_ ,” he drawls, his tone mocking. “You and goth chick screwing?”

“Her name is Paige, and no,” Seth replies, feeling offended on her behalf. “I’m exactly as gay as I’ve ever been.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Dean drawls, leaning back in his seat. “Given how you’ve cut off all contact with us for almost two months. Lot could’ve changed.”

“Dean!” Roman looks angry, and then he turns to face Seth, the thin disapproving line of his mouth relaxing. “We were worried when we couldn’t reach you. Dean was saying we should go to Hunter’s place to break you out.”

Here it is, the moment Seth’s been dreading. But Dr Shelby has suggested that he comes clean with people he wants to reconnect with, and Seth really wants these two men back in his life.

Paige comes back with their drinks, and places a manicured hand on Seth’s shoulder. “You okay?” She jerks her chin slightly in the direction of the other occupied booth; this is a question from Finn.

“Yep.” Seth smiles up at her. Once she’s gone, however, the smile fades from his face. He takes his Heineken in both hands and lets the cold of the glass center him. “I have... I have things to, um. I need to apologize and I... There’s been some major changes in my life.”

Roman sits forward, head angled. Dean narrows his eyes but doesn’t comment.

Seth takes a deep breath. He focuses on a bead of condensation on the glass of beer like his life depends on it. “I know that five years ago, I shouldn’t have just upped and left with Hunter. And you guys tried to talk me out of it, out of an affair with a married man. I got angry with you both for that. And... and that’s - that’s on me. And I know that... that weekly phone calls and texts weren’t enough to-” He covers his mouth and breathes, long steady breaths, in and out, until he can continue. He’s written this down, rehearsed this, thought about it constantly since Dr Shelby advised him. “I sacrificed our friendship, our brotherhood, for something I wanted, and I didn’t think it through properly.”

“Seth,” Roman begins, but Seth holds up a hand.

“I was a selfish ass. And I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes and exhales. The easy part is done. “Will you please forgive me?”

Roman reaches across the table. “Of course we will.”

Seth opens his eyes, feeling a huge weight fall off his shoulders when he sees Roman’s gentle gaze. When he looks over at Dean, however, part of the weight comes back. He is closed off, although not as forbidding as he was when he came in. Eventually, Dean says, “Yeah, you’re forgiven.” He turns to look at Renee at the bar. She’s talking to Becky now, the redhead laughing. “Renee says I hold on to grudges for too damn long. Imma try to make her proud, let this one go.”

“Gee, thanks,” Seth replies dryly, but he’s grinning. First hurdle down. He grips Roman’s hand and squeezes. “I also have to tell you guys some things that might be... that are difficult to, um, to hear. About my life when I was with Hunter. If you still want to know, but... but I’d understand if you don’t.”

“Wings,” a smooth voice cuts in. Joe places a basket of wings in the middle of the table, along with a stack of napkins and a spicy dip. A faint frown appears when he sees Seth holding Roman’s hand, but it’s one of mild concern; he glances at Seth and raises an eyebrow. “All good, kid?”

Seth nods. “We’re good.”

Joe leaves, whipping the white towel around his shoulders off as he returns to the kitchen. Dean peers after him. “You seem to be a regular at this place.”

“Not really, Mr. Joe is just... I should start at the beginning.” Seth sips his beer and pushes the wings towards Dean, who takes one. Roman shakes his head. Taking a deep breath, Seth licks his lips and began, “When I left with Hunter, I told you guys I was moving into his place, but it was not like that.” He goes on to tell them about living in the guest house on Hunter’s massive estate, how Stephanie didn’t want him around the children, how he wasn’t allowed to go out by himself or to contact anyone outside of Dean and Roman, about the phone activity being tracked.

Dean is seething. “Why did you stay on then, Seth? We could’ve got you out. We would’ve.”

Seth’s answering smile is wobbly. “You know how, when you start watching a series and the first two, three seasons are fantastic, and you fall in love with it? But over time, the show becomes... bad. Like, really awful. But you hang on, because now and again, you see glimpses of what made it good in the first place. And you hope... You pray it will be that good again, even though there’s nothing else to support that theory.”

Dean’s jaw is clenched so tight, he looks like he might break something. “How bad did it get? And no euphemisms, okay, I don’t need you to use _Supernatural_ as an analogy.”

 _You can do this_ , Seth thinks. He’s already told Dr Shelby, and he’s told Finn some of it. Surely Roman and Dean will understand. “This is where... where it gets - difficult - to share.”

 _Difficult_ is an understatement. Seth doesn’t dare to look at either of his friends as he recounts Hunter’s growing emotional distance after the first, happy year; the punishments he endured while waiting for occasional touches of affection; Hunter ‘sharing’ Seth with his friends, like Seth isn’t a _person_ but a thing. He knows he's lucky not to have contracted diseases - at least they used condoms, and it's a small, meager thing to be thankful for in all of this. He doesn’t talk in detail about what the other men did to him. Everything is abridged, summarized, alluded, _censored_. He can’t reveal everything, not here, not to them. He still doesn’t _know_ what Hunter wanted from him, why he was put through all of that. He doesn’t even want to think about it to himself. Forcing down the tears that threaten to spill, Seth makes himself smile at his friends when he finishes.

“So that was, um. That was how I spent the last few years. I didn’t tell you guys, and-and I’m sorry, but I didn’t want either of you to worry, not when you have your own shit to deal with.”

“Bastard,” Roman whispers, horrified. “God, _Seth_...”

Dean downs his beer and sets the bottle down with a thud. “Five years. Five _fucking_ years.”

“I’m okay now,” Seth blurts out hurriedly. Two pairs of eyes stare at him in disbelief. He tries to keep his voice steady. “Mostly okay. I promise. I’m out of there. A-and it’s good, it’s been _really good,_ now, I’m getting better and I just... Dean, Ro, I just want to get my life back on track. T-to be... To be my own person again. I’m gonna get there.”

“Seth,” Roman says, his voice strangely thick, and then he gets out of his seat to sit next to the youngest of them. Seth finds himself wrapped up in strong arms and a hand on the back of his neck. Roman presses a kiss to Seth’s temple and mutters, “God, Seth, you don’t have to put on a front for us.”

The unexpected display of brotherly affection breaks what remains of Seth’s composure. He hugs Roman back, fingers clinging, and hides his face in Roman’s shoulder, the tears seeping into Roman’s shirt and he thinks, _Hunter would have flogged me before he’d let me do this_. _I nearly lost this, I nearly lost this, for a man who never loved me._ He holds on to Roman and feels like he’s home again.

Finally, when he feels a little more composed, he pulls away and uses one of the napkins to wipe away the dampness on his cheeks. “Sorry about your shirt, bro.”

“It’ll dry.” Roman grins at him.

Dean eats another wing, finally smiling a little. “How did you get out?”

Seth nibbles on his lower lip. “I’ll... I need to introduce you guys to someone. Let me out, Ro.” Taking a deep breath, he goes to Finn’s table, where Karl is talking about meeting someone called Kenta, and Luke is vehemently against it.

The Irishman looks up as Karl pauses mid-word. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” says Seth. “I think it’s time.”

“Of course.” Finn stands and smooths down his jacket before buttoning it. (Another Armani in all black, of course - he knows what he looks good in, and he doesn’t stray often from it.) Luke and Karl immediately steal Finn’s beer and food. Finn rolls his eyes at them, but takes Seth’s hand to follow him to the other guys. The familiar gesture calms Seth’s racing heartbeat.

Roman stands as they approach and so does Dean. Gripping the Irishman's hand, Seth smiles at them. “This is Finn. Finn, this is Roman, and that’s Dean.”

“And why are we meeting _Finn?”_ Dean drawls, raising his chin as he takes in the all-black suit. There’s an unpleasant undertone to his voice.

Roman glares at Dean again before he holds out a hand to Finn. “Nice to meet you.”

Finn shakes Roman’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you too. Seth’s told me a little about you guys. I’m glad he’s finally contacted you.”

Seth slides back into the booth and tugs Finn to sit beside him. Roman takes the inside seat opposite them this time, an expectant look on his face, while Dean sits down on the outside, his knee bouncing. After exchanging a glance with Finn, Seth says, “I couldn't have got away from Hunter without Finn's help. And Mr Joe's. Joe is the guy who owns this bar; you've met him just now.”

“The guy who served us the wings?”

“Yes,” Seth tells Dean. “Mr. Joe and Finn, they got me away from Hunter, and now I'm staying at Finn's place.” He smiles at the Irishman shyly. “I had nothing other than the clothes I was wearing when Finn got Hunter to let me go, and he's been really kind and generous. I... I had no money, no place to stay. Finn helped me find my feet. He’s still helping me. I can't imagine how I'd have come so far in such a short time without him.”

Finn squeezes his hand and his gaze softens even more. “You did most of the work yourself. You found yourself a job, you’re seeing a therapist, and you're taking a drafting course to refresh your skills. I’ve nothing to do with that, sweetheart.”

When he hears Finn call Seth _“sweetheart”_ , Dean’s eyebrow twitches, but he says nothing.

Roman is delighted. “You're going back to architecture? Seth, that's awesome.”

“I don't know that I can ever be one, I've forgotten so much, but I can still draft blueprints and all that,” Seth mutters, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I’m applying for jobs, but most of these are on a per project basis, so I’m doing part time work for now.”

“What you working as at the moment?” Roman inquires, leaning forward.

“Assistant manager at a convenience store,” Finn says, as if it's a huge accomplishment. He strokes the side of Seth's hand with his thumb and smiles at him tenderly.

Dean wiped his fingers clean with the napkins on the table. “A glorified stock boy then?”

“Pretty much,” Seth says with a short chuckle. He's growing uneasy with Dean's tone and he doesn't understand why. They used to joke about one another's shitty part-time jobs when they were teens. “I’m learning to integrate into society, and, uh, dealing with... with the experiences with Hunter. Can’t do anything more challenging at the moment. Not like I really have the expertise for anything else more challenging.”

“You're a great help to Mick and you know it,” Finn says firmly. “And on top of that, you're studying and also taking care of most of the stuff around the apartment. And you take care of me. That's a very challenging task.”

Dean scoffs loudly, an unpleasant bark of laughter. The sound makes Seth bristle. “So you got away from Hunter, only to play maid for this guy? What, you can’t live without some sugar daddy paying your bills? How much are you earning for your _skills?_ ” He leers at Finn. “I wonder how generously you tip when he blows you.”

“Dean!” Roman is shocked, staring at his friend, aghast. The commotion draws Renee’s attention and she comes over, looking hesitant and worried. Seth feels like all the air has been punched out of his gut. He can’t form words, when the inside of his brain is loud static, and his limbs feel cold and heavy as ice.

“I thought you’d got us here to come home with us, leave the city, get back to living simply and honestly the way we used to,” Dean says, pushing to his feet. “Instead you tell us you’ve been hiding the truth from us, that you didn’t trust us to help you get out? And you’re sleeping with another rich guy just because he’s making life easy for you, like you didn’t learn anything from what happened with Hunter. If you’re raped again, you deserve it.”

Stunned by the cruel words, Seth just stares, feeling like all air has been pulled from his lungs. Finn and Roman stand at the same time, but Renee gets to him first and slaps him, hard. The sharp crack startles Seth out of his shock.

“How dare you.” She sounds tense and she looks like she’s about to cry. Her face is white with fury. “How _dare_ you, Dean. Apologize to Seth right now.”

Despite the darkening mark on his cheek, Dean only snorts, his upper lip curling, and he stalks away from the booth. Seth scrambles out of his seat and runs after him, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“What?” Dean snaps. He glares at Seth. “Either you come home with us right now, or you never contact me again. If you think I’m gonna feel sorry for you when it all goes wrong-”

“I _am_ home,” Seth cuts in angrily. “And it’s not going to go wrong, because Finn is not like Hunter. Finn is ten times, a hundred times better than Hunter ever was!”

“All I see is yet another rich pervert out to take advantage of my friend,” Dean hisses. “You’re a naive idiot, Seth, always have been, and that man, your new sugar daddy? Your new _pimp_? He’s gonna hurt you the same way Hunter did. And all I’m gonna say then is ‘I told you so’, because that’s all you fucking deserve for being so fucking dumb.”

He’s heard enough. Seth thinks about walking away, and he almost does, but when Dean scoffs again, muttering something about _Finn_ and _predator_ , something in Seth snaps. He whirls around and throws a punch into Dean’s face, sending him stumbling back.

“Seth, stop!” Becky calls out from the bar.

Seth ignores her and jumps on Dean, raining down blows. The stocky man has his arms thrown up around his head to block the punches. The pair near the TV are startled and quickly flee out the door. Someone grabs Seth under his arms and hauls him off of Dean, while Renee quickly gets to Dean to help him up.

It’s Luke who has Seth, and Roman puts himself between Seth and Dean, arms outstretched to keep both of them back. Blood is streaming from Dean’s nose as he shakes off Renee’s concern, and Seth is viciously pleased.

“I don’t give a shit if you think I’m dumb, or naive, or a useless burden,” Seth shouts at Dean, who is wiping blood from his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “But don’t you _ever_ insult _Finn_ , you bastard, you don’t even know what he’s done to keep me safe from Hunter, what he’s done to make sure I am even anywhere near _functional_ , you fucking idiot, you think I’d be here without him? Without Joe? I’d have _died_ at the hands of a fucking sadist and you wouldn’t even fucking know why I disappeared!”

“I’d have known if you’d told us anything!” Dean roars back, about to charge, and Roman has to physically restrain him by shoving him aside and then grabbing his arms.

“I am telling you _now!_ And you’re attacking me, attacking _Finn-”_

“Because you-” Dean begins and Roman slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Shut up, Dean,” Roman says sternly. “Fucking shut up.”

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Finn steps in front of Seth, facing Dean. “Roman, I need you and - I didn’t get your name, miss, I’m sorry - to take Dean out of here, please.”

“Sure.” Roman nods. “Seth, I’ll text you again?” He drags Dean out the door that Karl holds open for them.

Renee goes around Finn to speak to Seth, who has calmed down slightly, though he is still seething, his breathing labored. “I’m so sorry, Seth, I’ll... I’ll talk some sense into him.” She leaves, but the tension only recedes after the door is shut.

When Luke lets go of Seth, the young man doesn’t move. He thinks he’s crying, but he isn’t really sure, not until Finn takes him by the hand and leads him to Joe’s office. The big man is leaning against the door and shuts it once the two are inside, giving them some privacy.

“I fucked up,” Seth whispers, his voice harsh and ragged, and now he _knows_ he’s crying, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He’s a _mess_ ; he can’t feel his hands or feet. It was supposed to be a reconciliation, and he’s made it go _wrong_. “I fucked up, Finn, I fucked up so bad-”

“Let’s sit down, sweetheart,” Finn murmurs, pulling him over to the faded couch. Refusing to sit on it, the young man curls up on the floor, close to Finn's legs. Finn sighs and sits down instead. Seth shifts closer and _clings_ , and Finn gently urges him to rest his head on his black-clad thigh. He combs his fingers through Seth’s hair and soothes him as the younger man cries. “You didn’t fuck up. You were honest and vulnerable, and you were attacked by someone you love. You didn’t fuck up. You defended my honor, love, and you’ve shown so much courage, sharing all of that with them. I’m proud of you.” He bends down and kisses the top of Seth’s head. “You can't imagine how proud I am of you.”

At least someone is. Seth clings to Finn, desperately hoping he isn’t going to lose his best friends.

***

Once they have got home and Seth’s tucked into bed, worn out from the emotional turmoil, Finn asks for Roman’s number. Seth passes him his phone and rolls over, unwilling to do anything more. His fingers dig into his pillow and he hides his face from Finn who is stroking through his dark brown hair; that little rejection makes Finn angry at the guy named Dean.

 _How dare he. How dare he hurt you. Oh, darling, I am so sorry._ He says nothing, until Seth’s tense shoulders relax fractionally and he hears a muffled “I’ll be okay, promise, I still gotta go to work later to cover for Mick”, and then Finn whispers again how proud he is of Seth.

After kissing Seth on his temple, Finn slips out of the bedroom and calls Roman from his office. The lights of LA are spread before him, a glittering carpet, and not for the first time Finn thinks he has climbed a long way to get here. The number of secrets he has gathered, the connections he’s made around the world... more than fifteen years to change from a nobody all the way to someone who knows almost all the right somebodies.

The phone rings three times before Roman answers. _“Who’s this?”_

“This is Finn. We met earlier in the bar.”

_“Oh, hey. Yeah. Uh, how is Seth?”_

Finn approves of Roman. He likes the way Roman carried himself, and he noticed earlier how Roman was genuinely glad for Seth. “He’ll be okay after a while, I hope.” With a deep breath, Finn gets to the point of the phone call. “I don’t usually interfere with whom Seth interacts, but in this case I will. Until and unless Dean is willing to apologize, and remain civil about my relationship with Seth, I do not wish for them to meet.”

Silence on the other end. Finally, Roman says, _“I don’t think it’s right for you to dictate what happens in Seth’s life.”_

“Everything Seth has done since he left Hunter has been his choice. But he's hurt and confused by Dean and his words. I don't want Seth's recovery from trauma to be thrown off by someone else's cruelty. You can meet with him another day, and ask him anything you want to know. You now have my personal number, and I will also text you my business information. Feel free to look me up.” Finn goes to his desk and picks up his letter opener, twirling it in his fingers. “Seth is in my care now by his choice, Roman, and he trusts me to take care of his well-being. Given what transpired tonight, I believe Dean is not good company for Seth currently.”

More silence. Finn likes this guy, someone who thinks before he speaks. Eventually, Roman says, _“I’ll call Seth myself. I’d like to meet him without you around.”_

“That’s between you and him. But please, for Seth’s sake: Do not involve Dean.” Finn never wants to see Seth that upset ever again. All the confidence that's been built up seems to be shattered, all the nervous joy of finally reconnecting denied; the Irishman wants five minutes alone with that Dean guy, and perhaps a tire iron.

 _“Alright.”_ Another pause. _“I think you should also know that I don’t trust you, not yet.”_

“Fair enough,” says Finn. “Bye, Roman.”

_“Goodbye.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PQ: Not Sorry At All
> 
> Update: Read [before, we were brothers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18487888) for a glimpse of the boys' relationship pre-Hunter.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Joe meets Mama A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little breather after the previous chapter.

Other than what transpired with Seth and his friends, Sunday rolls around without much incident. (Joe doesn’t count having to bodily toss out two newbies from the bar - a hulking oaf of a guy, and a much shorter man, with an eccentric… _everything,_ including leopard spots dyed into his hair and matching pants - for attempting to pick fights with his regulars; it was finally the pink-haired Liv who punched him in the mouth after an ill-advised comment, starting a bit of a riot in the bar when the asshole made to go after her in retribution.) He’s debating his outfit, weighing the options of a button-up or a shirt with a blazer thrown over it, when Mustafa texts him the address, a nervous-seeming little _‘c u there?’_ following it, drawing an involuntary smile from Joe, soft and crooked, as he responds, _‘Can’t wait, baby’_.

Mustafa has already offered, twice more, to tell ‘Mama’ and Cedric that Joe has other business to attend to, which Joe has denied, despite the quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him to take the out. Meeting people is a breeze for Joe - he’s personable (a pretty large requirement to keep a successful bar open), but outside of the bar, he normally prefers to blend into his surroundings, avoiding any unnecessary conversation or confrontation that may bring him to mind when questions arise at a later time; here, he’ll be the focus of everyone, with eyes on the stranger in their midst, picking him apart to find some sign that he’s a danger to Mustafa. ( _If they only knew,_ Joe thinks with wry humor.)

(He’s unprepared for the little flutter of _something_ when he taps the address into his phone, sees that this woman - someone so close to Mustafa - lives barely a twenty-five minute walk away from his building. He doesn’t think much on it, but Joe can hear Finn’s accented voice teasing him. _Are those_ nerves _, Joseph? Is_ this _why you won’t let me meet your cop?_ He’s a bastard, even in Joe’s head.)

It’s still light out when he gets to the address given after dropping by the florist’s for a gift bouquet. The house is a single-storey family home, its walls painted ocean blue and set off with white trim. The door is a sunny yellow, and there are two bicycles leaning against the house on the side. It’s been dry these couple of weeks, and the grassy front yard is turning a little brown, but the property is well-maintained.

He can hear children shrieking, in that piercingly excitable way when they’re having too much fun for their tiny kid bodies to contain. There’s a clear yell of ‘ _Uncle Stafa! That’s not fair!’_ and then more scream-laughing, and Joe can’t help the surge of affection at the thought of the young man playing with a bunch of rowdy children. ( _You’re treading in dangerous waters,_ his mind whispers at him, the ever-present wariness that’s kept him alive thus far recognizing a growing chink in his armor.) After another few seconds mulling over his options - Mustafa may _say_ it’s not that sort of ‘family dinner’ but Joe knows it is - the big man goes up to the door and presses the doorbell.

A petite woman opens the door. She’s maybe five feet and possibly as light as a bird, her gray hair cropped short, and her gaze is the sharpest Joe has ever seen on anyone, including the couple of snipers he knows. She raises an eyebrow and smiles, dark brown eyes taking in his outfit and the state of his shoes, possibly marking him down for not being Barack Obama (Mustafa has complained a few times about his best friend’s crush). “Good evening. You must be Mustafa’s guest.”

“Hello Mrs. Alexander,” Joe says, handing the small arrangement of colorful blooms over. He’s tamped down his usual _‘don’t fuck with me’_ attitude and put on his ‘genial bar owner’ persona, the one that he normally keeps for dealing with law enforcement. (Law enforcement who is not Mustafa.) “Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure what to bring, but I figured that most people like flowers.”

The woman’s eyes brighten beautifully, her smile - a little tight at the corners only a few moments before - relaxes as she takes the bouquet, gently cupping one of the blooms. “Every old woman loves to receive flowers.” A sly sort of look slides into her eyes. “And so does my Mustafa.”

Joe offers his most charming grin and leans in, speaking lowly, almost conspiratorially. “I’ll send him flowers every day, if I get to attend more of the legendary ‘Mama A’s’ Sunday dinners.”

Her laugh is much louder than he expects from such a small woman, booming and hearty. “You haven’t even tried my food yet.”

“No,” Joe chuckles, “but Mustafa speaks so highly of it - and you,” he tacks on, “that I’m prepared to be ruined for even the best chefs in the city.”

Her lips twitch. “My son told me you were a charmer - though I’m not certain he meant it in a very flattering way.”

“I suppose I’ve to put in the extra mile to win him over,” Joe admits, grinning, “but I must say that I’m glad Mustafa isn’t as difficult to charm as Cedric seems to be.” He looks around. “You have a lovely home, ma’am.”

And it is a lovely little home, bright and welcoming. Colorful cushions on the couch, a yellow and orange circular rug on the tiled floor. There are toys piled in a large box in the corner of the living room, and family photos adorn the walls. One of the largest is of Mrs. Alexander and another couple, seated in front of Cedric and Mustafa in their dress uniforms, flanked by two young women, one who looks a lot like Mustafa and the other bearing the same warm smile as Mrs. Alexander.

“Those are Mustafa’s parents,” she says when she notices Joe studying that picture. “Proudest day of our lives, our boys graduating the academy.” She ushers him to the living room. “I’ll get Mustafa from the backyard - he’s horsing around with Celina's kids. What would you like to drink?”

“Just water please, thank you.”

She hums and disappears into the adjoining kitchen, where he hears the soft clink of a drinking glass being set onto a countertop and the heavier sound of something larger (a vase, perhaps) being placed down as well, then running water before she reappears with a glass for Joe, telling him to make himself at home as she returns to the other room, the soft creak of a screen door opening and closing echoing through the house as she, presumably, goes to retrieve Mustafa.

Joe takes the time to look around, his eyes taking in every detail: all the little knickknacks stored atop the entertainment center (not a speck of dust touching any of them); the children’s books on the lowest shelf of her own bookshelf, along with a doll in a blue dress, with a long, blonde braid swept to the side of her neck; the photos of children at all stages, including a few of Mustafa. Joe’s stuck on one particular one - Mustafa in a tight-fitting tuxedo, his hair a long curtain, framing his slender face, with a younger version of Cedric standing beside him, their hands clasping the other’s shoulder, side-by-side. A prom picture, Joe assumes.

He hears the door open once again, heavier footsteps than those of Mrs. Alexander’s coming up next to him, a warm presence by his side. “Your hair,” Joe says, nodding at the photo. “You cut it when you went to the academy?” He has an image of this Mustafa, the current one, with that hair - the thick locks, clenched tightly in Joe’s grip, Mustafa’s mouth slack - and he looks away, finds Mustafa gazing at the photo, too.

“Regulations,” Mustafa answers, blissfully unaware of Joe’s less-than-appropriate thoughts. “That was a great prom though.” He links hands with Joe, fingers entangling. “Cedric was my date. I gave him hell because he didn’t get me a corsage.” His fond smile takes away any hint of criticism, however. Then he turns to look at Joe, almost shy in the way he peers through his long lashes. “You came.”

Joe leans forward to kiss him chastely on the cheek. “Of course I did.”

“Uncle Stafa!” A chubby young boy barrels into the living room and crashes into Mustafa’s legs. “Uncle Stafa, who is this? Why did Gramma tell you to come in? Is it time for dinner? We still wanna play cops and robbers and it’s your turn to be the robber and Reina says she wanna be the cop but it’s my turn. Did you just kiss him? Who are you?”

That last question is directed with vehement belligerence at Joe, who’s trying to suppress his amusement at the deluge of inquiries leveled at Mustafa. The young man scoops the kid up - the boy is probably about six or seven - and the child squirms, fighting to escape Mustafa’s hold.

“I’m not a _baby_ to be carried, Uncle Stafa!” the boy protests. Mustafa sets him on his feet, grinning.

“Yeah, listen to him, Uncle Stafa,” Joe says, teasing smile on his lips. He holds his right hand out to the kid. “I’m Joe. Your Uncle Stafa says your grandmother is the best cook in the city and invited me for dinner. What’s your name?”

“Jabari,” says the boy, shaking Joe’s hand solemnly. He smiles suddenly, and Joe sees the resemblance between him and his grandmother. “Gramma makes the best food in the _world_.”

“I’m sure she does,” Joe agrees. “I can’t wait to try it.”

Jabari hugs Mustafa around the legs and hurtles out to the backyard again, yelling for Reina - whoever that is - to meet ‘ _Uncle Stafa’s Joe’_ , and Mustafa laughs at that new title. “I like that,” the young man says, his cheeks pink. “Stafa’s Joe.”

Joe grins, wolfish and sly, slipping one arm around Mustafa’s waist, tugging him close. “As long as you’re-” He flicks his eyes to the entry of the kitchen, to the door separating them from children and _Cedric_. “-Daddy’s boy,” he finishes in a growl, low and rumbling, intent obvious in his gaze.

Mustafa’s eyes darken even further and his lips part. It takes him a few seconds to respond, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “You can’t just-” He clears his throat. “You can’t say that in Mama’s house,” rasps Mustafa, his head swiveling to make certain the woman herself isn’t behind him.

Humming, Joe leans in to nudge his nose against Mustafa’s, their breaths mingling for a moment. Mustafa inhales sharply, but Joe retreats, a smile turning his lips upward as he releases the other man. “Alright,” he chuckles - boundaries are boundaries. “Is touching acceptable?”

“ _No.”_ It’s Cedric, strolling in from the other side of the house - presumably from his room - and looking inordinately smug. “My mother’s house is not a place for you two to _flirt_.”

“Good evening to you too, Cedric,” Joe drawls with a bland smile. He deliberately takes Mustafa’s hand and squeezes gently. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner.”

Cedric narrows his eyes at him, but refrains from making any remark. Instead, he jerks his head towards the kitchen. “Come on, Moose, we gotta set the table. Mama’s insisting on the good plates.”

An apologetic look and Mustafa’s gone with his best friend to help out. Jabari returns, tugging a sweet little girl with a head of dark curls behind him. The boy pulls her along until they’re both in front of Joe. “This is Reina. She’s my baby sister, she’s four years old, and she’s really good at maths.”

“Hello Reina.” Joe offers his hand. “I’m Joe.”

The girl stares at him. Then she yanks her hand free of her brother and runs away. Baffled, Joe looks at Jabari and back at where the girl’s gone. “What did I do?”

“She’s super shy.” Jabari crosses his arms with all the authority of an exasperated older brother. “Mom says I should teach her how to make friends but she always runs away when I do.”

Joe shrugs. “Well, I’m certain you’ll succeed soon. You’re a very confident young man.”

For some reason, Jabari decides that this means Joe is prepared to listen to his exploits, and drags the big man to the couch and sits him down. The kid regales his adventures, trials, and victories; Joe doesn’t know how to politely excuse himself from the monologue.

“Baby, why don’t you go help your uncles? Big boys help set the table, don’t they?”

The little boy looks away from Joe for the first time in _minutes_ , toward the owner of the soft voice - a pretty young woman, petite and with features similar enough to Cedric that Joe could probably place her as his sister if he hasn’t already met their mother, couldn’t make the instant connection, all with large brown eyes and full lips, their noses and chins regal and strong. “I wanna talk to Joe,” Jabari tells his mother, a stubborn look on his face that immediately disappears when she lifts one well-shaped eyebrow.

“Go help your uncles,” she repeats, voice firm, but still kind - hard enough for the kid to understand the reprimand, but not cold enough to make him think she’s angry with him.

The little boy huffs, but complies, rising from the sofa with a long-suffering sigh. “I gots to go help,” he tells Joe solemnly, making Joe’s lips quirk.

“I’m sure your uncles will appreciate it.”

The kid furrows his brow, but brightens after he considers it, saying something about candy before he runs off toward - presumably - the dining room.

“No candy before dinner!” Cedric’s sister shouts after him, rolling her eyes fondly after her son.

For the first time this evening, Joe is starting to feel a little overwhelmed. He’s not used to dealing with kids, nor with a normal family; all his friends (or those he considers friendly) are in the business and they know him as a dangerous man. Cedric’s sister sits down and regards him with mild curiosity.

“So you’re the Joe that Mustafa is seeing,” she says with a small smile. Leaning forwards slightly, she whispers, “Between you and me, I think Cedric’s jealous of you.”

The big man chuckles and shrugs. “There’s plenty of Mustafa to go around.”

“Not when my brother is used to keeping his best friend to himself,” she says. “Celina. Pleasure to meet you. Cedric’s been a pain in the neck since Mustafa met you, so for that, I expect you to treat Mustafa very well.” She grins mischievously. “Consider that _‘The Talk’_ from Moose’s sister too. You'll be meeting her soon, I think, once her twin boys can settle down to a regular feeding and napping schedule, or maybe Moose will take you with him on one of his weekend visits. Zenab would never issue threats, but let’s just say that if she needs a body buried, I’m gonna be right there helping her.”

To his own surprise, Joe _likes_ Celina. He’s always been partial to women who can give as good as they get, and there’s a directness about Celina that is charming in her own right. He takes a sip of his water and is about to reply when Mrs. Alexander calls from the kitchen that dinner is ready and that everyone is to wash their hands.

The dining room is cozy, and the surface of the small round oak table which isn’t obscured by dishes is covered with tiny dents and scratches and marker ink, evidence of age and rambunctious children. It is a veritable feast of chicken, fried shrimp, steamed broccoli, fried tomatoes, pasta, and a thick, red stew that smells amazing. Joe takes the offered seat next to Mustafa, and Jabari demands to be seated on Joe’s other side.

Cedric is outraged by the slight. “You always sit next to me!”

“You’ve heard all my stories and Uncle Joe hasn’t and he _listens_ without playing on his phone and I like him,” Jabari argues, planting his little rear end on the chair firmly.

“ _Uncle Joe?”_ Cedric glares at Joe, as if _Joe_ is the one who has bribed the kid into saying that.

“Joe is older than you, so of course he’s to be called _‘Uncle Joe’_ by my kids,” Celina interjects, taking the broccoli and ignoring her son’s look of disgust when she spoons a healthy serving on his plate. She passes the vegetables across to Joe. “Help yourself, Joe. Mustafa will be taking leftovers home for packed lunches for the week but we always have more than enough.”

Cedric sputters. “You don’t- You don’t even _know him!_ He can’t just be given an ‘uncle’ title!” He flails one hand in the air, nearly hitting his niece, and he hastily apologizes to Reina. Celina glares at him before she turns to her daughter, tearing a roll into little pieces for her, though Reina seems more intent on drinking all of her juice, her little character-covered cup (a pair of dogs, Joe notices, one blue and one pink, sporting - and he suppresses a snorting laugh when he sees - little police hats) tilted high in the air.

“Ced.” Mustafa frowns, and he and Cedric stare at each other for a long moment, a conversation seeming to take place with simple little eyebrow twitches, and Cedric rolls his eyes, backing down - for now.

“Mustafa tells us you own your own business.” Cedric’s mother is smiling at Joe again, her head tilted in a contemplative way.

Cedric scowls. “He’s a _bar owner_ and-”

“That sounds like it would be an exciting line of work - new people every night, breaking up fights, even.”

Cedric looks to speak again, but Joe’s faster. “That’s how Mustafa and I met, actually. He heard someone starting a fight and came in to stop him.” He smiles at Mustafa proudly. “He’s very brave.”

Scowling, Cedric adds, “We’re cops. That’s our job.”

Reaching around her daughter, Celina knocks her brother's arm lightly. “Breaking up any kind of fight is _brave_ ,” she insists, grinning at Joe, who forces down a laugh. “Moose, that’s _genius_ , though! Going into a man’s bar to help, then leaving with his number. Honestly, I’m proud.”

Mustafa smirks. “Thanks, Celina. But Cedric was there too, so it wasn’t just me. Anyway, the dude was drunk, it wasn’t a huge challenge.”

“So getting his number wasn’t a challenge either?” Celina teases. “No, Jabari, you have to eat your veggies, not push them around your plate.”

“What’s so special about getting a number?” the boy demands, broccoli speared on one fork that does not appear to be heading to his mouth anytime soon.

“Well, it’s because I thought Joe was cute and I wanted to be his friend,” Mustafa explains, cheeks going a little pink, “and I was feeling shy about it.”

“I’m glad you got over that.” Celina’s approval is obvious. “Mama, could you pass the chicken? Thanks.”

Mrs. Alexander passes the roast chicken around the table, silently motioning for Joe to take more. She pats Mustafa’s hand and she’s smiling, in a quietly maternal way, and Joe sees why Mustafa speaks of her so fondly. "So tell us a little more about yourself, Joe. Mustafa says you have traveled to many countries?"

The rest of the meal is spent with Cedric glaring intermittently at Joe, when his mother or Mustafa or his sister are caught up in conversation; Joe only smirks in return, crooked and cocky. Mustafa leans into him a few times, his arm warm against Joe’s, until he finally nudges his hand against Joe’s under the table; Joe allows him to tangle their fingers together atop his own thigh, his thumb rubbing over the smooth skin, back and forth, eventually moving to rest his hand on Mustafa’s thigh instead, when the younger man fails in his attempt to eat with his left hand, unwilling to let go. Celina has a soft look on her face when Joe catches her eye, a gentle smile in place before Reina deliberately lobs her cup at the floor, giggling with delight as it rolls away.

When the food is eaten, everyone full and content, Celina and Mustafa and Cedric all rise to clear away the dishes, the children being directed to the living room once more. Joe makes to do the same, gathering up his own silverware and plate, but Mustafa shakes his head.

“You’re a guest; Mama would skin us alive if we put you to work.”

“Mustafa, don’t be so dramatic,” the woman chortles, clicking her tongue. “But he’s right, Joseph; you’re a guest, and guests don’t clean in my house.”

Joe fights back a cringe. “Just ‘Joe’, ma’am,” he corrects politely, his eyes following Mustafa as the young man leaves the room, laden with dishes.

She hums. “Well, then, there’s no need to call me ‘ma’am’,” she teases him. “Just ‘Isis’ will do.”

“Well then, Isis, thank you for the delicious meal. I honestly can’t remember having better beef stew.”

“I made it in a slow cooker,” Isis confides. “If you like it, I’ll have Mustafa pass you the recipe.”

Joe offers his charming grin from before, leaning back in his chair. “Slow cooker or not,” he tells her, “I don’t think I could even begin to do it justice.” His eyes flick to Mustafa moving around in the kitchen, grabbing a towel as Cedric fills one half of the sink with soapy water, passing the dishes to Mustafa as they’re cleaned, Mustafa drying them and handing them off to Celina to be put away - an assembly line of sorts; it’s _endearing_ , seeing Mustafa like this, Joe thinks to himself, frowning just a bit. _Dangerous waters,_ that little voice pipes in again. _Treacherous, as harsh as the ocean during a storm._

“I think,” murmurs Isis, her gaze focused intently on Joe when he looks back at her. “I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit, Joe.”

(Somehow, Joe doesn’t think they’re talking about cooking anymore.)

Before too long, Mustafa pops through the archway, leaning down to press a kiss to the woman’s cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Mama.”

She only smiles, still looking at Joe, and tells Mustafa to pack some of the leftovers for Joe “in the good Tupperware, so he doesn’t have to worry about it spilling before he gets home”. Something hits the floor in the kitchen, and Cedric curses, Isis calling out a sharp reprimand.

Mustafa stifles a laugh and returns to the kitchen, digging through the cabinets for containers. Isis pets Joe’s hand, her own small and fine-boned against his, the nails painted a vibrant gold. “Mustafa is a good boy, but he’s always deferred to my Cedric too much,” she tells him in a low voice. “I’m glad he invited you over. Has he told you much about his parents?”

“Only that they’re out of the country at the moment,” Joe says honestly.

“Well.” Isis sighs and folds her hands in her lap. There’s a soft, agitated discussion in the kitchen between Cedric and Mustafa, which Celina breaks up with a mild _“don’t be a clingy baby, Ced”_ , and then Mustafa is packing up the leftovers. Isis glances at her children, then turns her attention back to Joe. “They do love him, but parents don’t always know how to show their love. As far as _I_ am concerned, however, I approve.”

Joe smiles and shakes his head lightly. “And Mustafa insisted that this wasn’t a ‘meeting the family’ dinner.”

“Not officially, no,” Isis replies, also laughing, eyes bright. “Cedric on the other hand was very insistent that I vet you as Mustafa’s potential ‘suitor’, his words, and I’ve done my job.”

Mustafa returns before Joe has a chance to reply (though he, for the first time in a long time in a conversation with another adult, doesn’t know what _to_ say), Tupperware in hand and a beautiful smile on his lips. “Shall we?” he asks. “I’ll walk you home, if that’s okay with you. Sorry I can't stay longer, Mama, but I have to be at a school talk in the morning.”

“Of course it's okay,” says Joe. He thanks Isis again, and bids goodbye to Celina and the children; Jabari waves enthusiastically and Reina mumbles a ‘bye Uncle Joe’, which makes Mustafa glow with happiness when he looks at Joe. Cedric rolls his eyes and says goodbye with bad grace, so Joe is extra pleasant to him as he leaves. Isis kisses Mustafa on both cheeks, murmuring something in his ear that makes him grin and wrinkle his nose in the cutest way, and presses her cheek to Joe's when he leans down to bid her goodbye.

(Isis’ words, her gentle smile and shining eyes, follow him home, and Joe can’t place the feelings they bring when they float through his mind, warm and light, an image of Mustafa’s smile right behind them.)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Mustafa meets Joe's family.  
> Uh. Friends.  
> Uh. Acquaintances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part One.  
> Joe: "Finn is a little shit."

Between Monday to Wednesday, Cedric is sulky and snappish, but Mustafa is busy on a case so he doesn't have to deal with his best friend's bad mood. He and Joe text every day, and it's hard not to believe that this is the start of something really special. (Mama privately told him that she likes Joe, but there's something serious that the older guy is keeping very close to his heart, and she advised him not to push Joe on it. Mustafa knows better than to doubt her insight.) Still, he can't help feeling worried about his turn to “meet the family”.

It’s pouring outside on Thursday evening and he doesn’t have his umbrella with him. Mustafa rubs his palms over his thighs. He’s only meeting Joe’s _friends_ , he shouldn’t be this nervous. And he hasn’t even left his desk yet! He really should not have come in on his day off just to clear the backlog of paperwork, but staying at home only ramped up his anxiety. He knows he’s being silly, but he wants Joe’s friends to like him, the way Mama and Celina like Joe. (Jabari has also asked if _‘Uncle Joe’_ will visit again, and Mustafa doesn’t know what to tell the boy outside of “I’ll ask him”, but he can’t help hoping that Joe becomes as much a fixture of Sunday dinners as he himself is.) At least Becky and Paige seem to approve of him; that’s two out of however many friends Joe has decided on having over for dinner.

“Aww, my lil’ mooseketeer, what’s got you looking so down?” asks Dana as she walks by, armed with a mug of coffee. She sets it on his desk and drags Cedric's chair over to sit by Mustafa. “Need a listening ear?”

“Not if I’m keeping you from your work,” Mustafa answers, eyes darting to the sergeant’s desk. Sarge has been on a bit of a productivity kick lately; something about a new captain coming in to take over from the retiring Captain Angle.

Dana opens a random folder from Mustafa’s stack and points at it, like she is helping him with a case. “I’m listening.” She spies one of the crime scene photos in the folder. “Ooh, a double homicide? I’d have thought this would be for the guys upstairs.”

“Phoenix wants me on it since I was a first responder.” Mustafa lowers his voice and adds, “I’m meeting Joe’s friends tonight. Kind of a tit-for-tat situation because he met Mama on Sunday.”

“You boys move _fast_ ,” she says with admiration. “Things are progressing well, I see.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s been fun, and more importantly, Mama approves of him. But what if his friends _hate_ me?” The young man scrubs his sweaty palms on his jeans again. “I mean, most people these days don’t really like cops, you know?”

Dana raises an eyebrow. “My dear Mustafa Ali, no one on this _planet_ can talk to you and dislike you. It's a statistical impossibility.”

Mustafa smiles weakly, but says, “They’re important people to Joe.” He bites his lip, looking out the window to the dreary weather outside; he’s always hated the rain. “I just… I don’t want them to hate me.”

“Well,” Dana hums, “Cedric doesn’t like Joe, right?” The look Mustafa gives her makes her laugh. (Mustafa’s always liked her laugh, light and airy, like the sound of bells drifting through the air.) “ _And_ ,” she continues, “that hasn’t changed your opinion of this guy, so why should anyone else’s opinion change his? Not that anyone will ever have a _bad_ opinion of you,” insists the blonde once again, her blue eyes earnest and bright.

It’s logical and reasonable and thus completely useless to the bag of nerves in Mustafa’s stomach, but he thanks her for the encouragement anyway. He doesn’t want to be late, so he texts Joe and gets ready to go. Given the downpour, he has to get an Uber, but he’s still drenched by the time he crosses the sidewalk to get to the bar. At least his overnight bag is water-resistant so the clothes inside are mostly dry.

“Uh-uh, you stay right there, loverboy,” Becky announces when she sees him. Mustafa is confused until she shows up with a floor mat and drops it at his feet. “Drip on that, and then go upstairs. Most of us are here and Joe’s been cooking up a storm.” She glances outside just as lightning flashes. “Pun unintended.”

It’s loud with laughter upstairs as Mustafa goes up the stairs, Becky behind him with a tray of drinks. He hopes he doesn’t look too much like a drowned rat, though he doesn’t have much hope in that respect; his black jeans are clinging to his legs, sodden from rain, and his shirt is practically molded to his skin.  A cluster of people is chatting idly around a table but their conversation ceases when they see him. Becky yells for Joe as she sets down the drinks. Paige takes one look at him and grabs his bag from his cold fingers.

“Sweetheart, go to the bathroom and grab him a towel,” a stunningly handsome man says, coming over to Mustafa to help him out of his jacket, while a tall young man with dark hair ( _Seth,_ Mustafa recalls from that first date at the coffee place) runs down a hallway. “Joe, make some ginger tea for your boyfriend, he’s soaked.”

Joe emerges from the kitchen and frowns at the state Mustafa is in. “Baby, you wanna take a hot shower first? I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Uh, maybe a change of clothes? There’s no need to go to any trouble.”

“Nonsense,” says Stunningly Handsome Man ( _Good heavens, his eyes are really blue,_ Mustafa thinks, momentarily distracted). “You take a long, hot shower, and Joe can throw your clothes in the dryer. You’re about my height, so you should be able to fit in my clothes instead of being drowned in his.”

“Oh no, it's okay, I have my own clothes-”

Before Mustafa can protest, Seth comes back with a towel, and Stunningly Handsome Man shoos Mustafa off to one of the bedrooms - the master bedroom, apparently, with an en-suite bathroom, and Joe follows behind to make sure Mustafa gets in the shower and to take the pile of sodden garments away with him once the water is running, leaving two towels on the counter.

 _Why on earth would that man have clothes here at Joe’s?_ Mustafa muses, but the hot water is a blessing after the rain, washing away his curiosity. It’s kind of awkward, knowing that Joe and his friends are just outside waiting for him to get warm and dry, but Joe’s concern is sweet. When he comes out of the shower, Joe is there with a steaming mug and a neatly-folded stack of clothes on the bed, retrieved from Mustafa’s open bag on the hardwood floor.

“Feeling better?” Joe asks, setting the drink on the nightstand and going to the young man to kiss him.

“Way to make a first impression,” Mustafa jokes weakly. He rubs the back of his head with a second towel. “Did I ruin the evening?”

Joe shakes his head, his hands on Mustafa’s hips. “Nah. Though I’m tempted to send all of them home so I can warm you up more _thoroughly_.”

“Not now,” Mustafa chides, cheeks growing warm. He gets dressed as fast as he can, aware that Joe is watching him and feeling a sharp pleasure at the fleeting thought of doing this on a more regular basis. It feels a little strange, wearing his faded jeans and an old tee shirt, the same sort of outfit he wears to relax at home. “Before I go out there, maybe tell me who’s here?”

“You’ve already met Paige and Becky and Seth, and Tyler says he’ll be here in a second. That guy you just spoke to-”

“The beautiful guy with the stunning blue eyes?” The words slip out before he can help himself, but Joe only snorts.

“Yeah, that’s Finn. Don’t believe a word he says, he’s an asshole.” Joe hands the mug over to him. “Him and his security people, Anderson and Gallows. They're decent guys for all they look like criminals. Gallows is the taller dude. That’s all we have tonight.”

 _Seven people_. The young cop sips the hot tea and licks his lips. Seven people, important enough to Joe that he wants them to meet Mustafa. There’s something about the way the Finn guy spoke to Joe, however, that gnaws at Mustafa in a not-too-kind way. Still, he lets Joe usher him out the bedroom to where the guests have gathered around a table, playing cards in hand. Poker, apparently.

Tyler Breeze has got here, not a hair out of place, in skinny white jeans and a simple white-and-gray striped shirt, looking like a million bucks. “Mustafa!” he calls out, delight written all over his face as he skips over and takes his hands. “It’s so nice that _Joe_ is finally allowing us to meet you properly,” Tyler says, eyes crinkling up with good humor. There’s a hint of amusement in the way he regards Joe, just behind Mustafa, but the blond socialite just leads Mustafa to the rest of the group. “You’ve met Seth, and this is his boyfriend Finn.”

Seth wiggles his fingers, half-smiling as he leans against the blue-eyed man, whose free arm is around Seth's waist. He’s not in the game, content to watch Finn play; there is a pensive air to him. Finn smiles at Mustafa, setting down his cards, his gaze raking the young man over from head to toe and back up, and suddenly Mustafa feels _shy_. He resists the urge to fidget.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mustafa. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His Irish accent lingers on _pleasure_ , which makes a strange heat flood Mustafa’s face. Finn glances over at Joe, a sly smirk curling his red lips. ( _Does he have lipgloss on?_ Mustafa wonders, and then scolds himself for even thinking about it.) “You’re a secretive bastard, Joe, hiding this beautiful young man from us.”

“I didn’t want you poking about my business is all, dickhead,” Joe retorts, a hand low on Mustafa’s back. 

Tyler resumes introductions, pointing to Luke Gallows and Karl Anderson, both brawny and bald, but exuding good cheer as they greeted Mustafa. Paige and Becky grin at him, the former quirking her eyebrows at Joe like she knows something Joe doesn’t. Duty done, Tyler then circles around to whisper in Seth’s ear, before Seth murmurs something to Finn. Finn chuckles and shrugs. “Sure thing, love. But not too far, yeah? Joe wouldn’t want to start dinner too late.”

“Of course,” Tyler says, and pulls Seth with him to head downstairs, both of them whispering to each other like naughty children, the latter looking a little apprehensive.

Bemused, Mustafa follows Joe into the kitchen, still cradling his mug. “They’re... I don’t know what to make of them.”

“Generally speaking, they’re all assholes, but to different degrees,” says Joe, peering into the oven, a slight crease in his brow. “But these are people I trust, so that’s their saving grace.” He straightens and beckons Mustafa over, tucking the young man close against him. “Whereas you, baby, are a wonderful, perfect ray of light.” He adds in a low growl, “And you’re Daddy’s boy.”

“You _can’t_ say things like that,” Mustafa hisses, knowing that his cheeks are red. He glances over his shoulder. The others are still deep in their poker game, all with the drinks Becky brought up from the bar, and Paige is laughing at something Gallows said.

Joe’s hand sneaks down to grope his ass, making Mustafa jump. The big man chuckles. “My kitchen, my rules.” He kisses Mustafa on the cheek and shoos him out.

Mustafa doesn’t gamble, so he turns down the offer to deal him in, but he does take the seat that Seth’s left behind and observes them. Becky and Finn play like they have no concept of losing, while Paige and Anderson exercise more caution. Gallows seems the most relaxed of the group, focusing more on the snacks than the cards.

The Irishman wins the next hand and scoops the chips back to his seat. “Help me sort them out,” he says to Mustafa, while Gallows shuffles and deals. As Mustafa obediently stacks the plastic chips by color, Finn comments, “Tell us about yourself, Mustafa. Joe is so tight-lipped about his cute cop that I've only got the faintest impression of you.”

“Um, what do you wanna know?” _His cute cop?_ Mustafa doesn't know how to feel about being called 'cute’, but he does like being Joe’s. 

“Anything you care to share, darling,” says the Irishman, and though there are four other people at the table, Mustafa feels like Finn has shut them all out of the conversation. Being called 'darling' in that accent also does a strange thing to his spine, like an electric buzz tingling along it. “What was your first impression of Joe, for instance? I've heard you were arresting someone in the bar when you met.”

“My first impression? Uh, I was, um, well, h-he was imposing and sort of intimidating when I first saw him, but he was really nice when we talked and, um.” Mustafa doesn't know how much to share, but the way the Irishman is gazing at him, eyes twinkling, as if he's the most interesting person on earth, is making his stomach do funny flips. 

Finn picks up his cards and barely glances at them before he ups the ante, and then returns his full attention to Mustafa again.

The young cop blushes and stammers, “I mean, he has a really se- uh, soothing voice, and, and I could tell he was interested, and I thought I'd like to know him better too.”

“You and boss man should send me and Paige chocolates,” Becky says, temporarily breaking the spell of Finn's impossibly blue eyes. She winks at Mustafa, as if she's aware of his relief. “If we hadn't dragged the other cop to the office, Joe wouldn't have had a chance to put the flirt on.”

Finn brushes the edge of his hand along Mustafa's and lightning dances down Mustafa's spine again. “I don't blame Joe for trying his luck with you. If all cops were as cute as you are, I'd be happy to get arrested.”

It's outrageous flattery and Mustafa can't help laughing. “Why, have you committed a crime?”

“I have been known to be quite a _naughty_ boy in my time,” Finn says with a lazy smile. “Could have done with some discipline when I was younger.” His tongue peeks out to lick his lips as he stares at Mustafa’s mouth, before his gaze slides up to meet the younger man’s eyes. The ever-present smile widens just a little before Finn's red tongue flicks over his lower lip.

Mustafa fights the urge to squirm. The blatant flirtation is not something he's used to, let alone from someone who looks like an Armani model. He can't imagine anyone rejecting Finn if he comes onto them for real. At least he knows it's (mostly) harmless, since Finn has a boyfriend, and he quickly changes tack and asks what Finn does for a living.

“I'm a professional dom,” Finn tells him. He folds his hand without even looking, completely uninterested in the poker game now; his full attention is on Mustafa. The effect is like a blowtorch on a fly - Mustafa can't tear his gaze away from the older man at all.

“Dom?”

“Dominant. As in BDSM.”

“Oh.” Mustafa blinks at him, and then remembers what he and Joe just did not too long ago with handcuffs. “ _Oh_.”

He’s not sure what to say to that. He’s definitely _not_ going to allow himself to imagine this unbelievably handsome man in leather pants, wielding a whip or putting someone in shackles or all the stereotypical stuff that appears in porn. Hopefully he’d be saved from not imagining any of it by Joe, and soon.

The Irishman raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on his ridiculously red lips. ( _Seriously, is it makeup?_ Mustafa can’t tell.) “You sound like you’ve some interest in the topic. I’d love to share my experience and insights, if you have any questions.”

 _Is he... is he_ really _flirting with me? I mean, he knows I’m with Joe, and he obviously has a boyfriend, but he’s-_ Mustafa bites his lip, which apparently amuses Finn even more, judging by the way he leans a little closer, his tasteful cologne inviting Mustafa to breathe deeply; thank goodness Joe interrupts before the young policeman can embarrass himself.

“Finn, go get the two brats, dinner is ready,” Joe announces. Glaring at Finn, he approaches the group and places a hand on Mustafa’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “The rest of you, clear the table. Baby, come help me with the dishes.”

It's only when Mustafa is passing forks and knives to Anderson that he realizes that Joe has been calling him _'baby’_ from the moment Mustafa arrived, and he nearly fumbles the rest of the cutlery. It should be mortifying, but a strange, hot pleasure unfurls through him at the thought of Joe being so open about his affection for the younger man. Joe doesn’t seem to be the sort to show fondness for anyone - he clearly cares for Becky and Paige, yet he still talks to them with heavy sarcasm and roasts them for the smallest things (though they retort with equally sharp wit or cutting commentary) - so what does it mean when Joe isn’t hiding how he feels about Mustafa?

He bites his lower lip, feeling a little self-conscious, but decides to try something more daring. If the older man hates it, he'll let Mustafa know. When Joe comes out of the kitchen with the last dish - a crown roast of lamb - Mustafa sidles up to him and murmurs, “That looks really impressive, Daddy.” He can feel heat flooding his cheeks once the last word escapes his mouth.

Paige is the closest and her brows climb towards her hairline, her glee evident. Joe doesn’t chide him for the endearment, only kisses Mustafa on his forehead, smiling broadly, his dimples showing, and thanks him for the compliment.

It’s too embarrassing to say it in front of other people, Mustafa decides, but the warmth crawling up his spine suggests that he can consider doing this more frequently in the future.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Tyler and Seth are naughty, and everyone is not allowed to discuss dietary restrictions.

It isn’t surprising in the least to find Tyler and Seth holed up in Joe’s office downstairs, though Finn must say he raises an eyebrow at their positions: Tyler, pressed tightly against Seth, pinning him to the wall; one thigh between the darker man’s; their fingers entangled, resting against the wall on either side of Seth’s head, their hips moving lazily against each other.

Finn knows that they’ve heard him, knows well and good that they are now putting on a show for him. Tyler’s already learned from him what Seth has asked for, and from their display, it’s clear that the socialite is more than amenable to the arrangement.

It's good that Seth isn't wallowing in what happened with Dean and Roman. He's been more withdrawn, certainly, but also with a determined air to keep going. _Tyler is good for him,_ the Irishman thinks, watching the blond skim his hands down Seth's sides and up again, their soft moans filling the space. _Someone to lavish him with the attention he's not had for so long._

(Finn also knows it's no replacement for whatever bond Seth feels with Dean and Roman, but that can be dealt with another time.)

“Princess,” Finn interrupts the show, leaning against the door jamb. “Touching my boy without _explicit_ permission? You know the rules.” He sees a shudder run through Seth, beautiful brown eyes flashing to Finn; the Irishman is pleased to see no fear in them, no concern that his words are filled with a promise of _real_ harm to Tyler, only desire and a flirtatious, teasing light shining in them.

Tyler glances back, his stormy eyes filled with mischief. “Sethie gave me permission,” he tells Finn, a cheeky grin spreading.

“Oh, he _did,_ hm?” Finn pushes away from the doorway, stalking slowly toward the pair, their bodies still pressed close, their hips still moving against each other’s. He reaches out a hand to cup Seth’s cheek, thumb smoothing over a sharp cheekbone before he slides his fingers into Seth’s curls, the thick mass tangling around his hand as he makes a loose fist, his other hand mimicking the same in Tyler’s blond hair as he turns their heads to put their attention fully on him while he speaks. “Sweetheart,” murmurs Finn, his voice soft, almost a _coo_. “It wasn’t really your place to allow that, now was it?”

Seth’s eyelids flutter, his lips parting when Finn tightens his grip just enough to _pull,_ the gentle pain making him breathless as he replies, “You told us we could.”

Finn lifts an eyebrow. “I told you not to go too far, darling.” He tugs both boys close with his grip in their hair, pulling each to either side of himself, their erections pressing into Finn’s hip bones. “It feels to me,” he begins, turning so that he can trail soft kisses, light brushes of his lips, over first Tyler’s cheek, then Seth’s. “It feels to me that you are both _very close_ to being _over_ that line.”

“Oops,” is Tyler’s careless response, those pretty eyes peeking coyly at Finn from beneath long lashes.

 _Brat,_ Joe’s voice, affectionate and deep, echoes in Finn’s mind, making him snort. “Brat,” he says aloud.

“You didn’t give us a definition of _too far_ ,” Tyler points out, sly and confident. “It’s your own fault.”

Seth lets out a sound, a breath of a laugh, and buries his face into the curve of Finn’s neck; Finn doesn’t loosen his grip in the younger man’s hair, keeping it pulled taut while he stares at the blond. Tyler keeps his gaze steady with Finn’s. “For future reference,” Finn announces, “ _too far_ includes - but is not limited to - dry-humping against the wall like hormonal teenagers in a storage closet."

“Daddy’s office is _far_ from a storage clo-”

Finn wrenches Tyler’s head back, enough to put a strain on his throat, and he leans in to press his lips against the socialite’s Adam’s apple, his tongue flicking out momentarily to taste, humming when Tyler whimpers, his hips bucking lightly to rub his clothed cock more firmly over Finn’s hip.

“Don’t talk back to me, princess,” Finn orders when he draws back, voice low and dark. Seth shivers against him, his breath releasing shakily against Finn’s neck. “And you," Finn adds, lifting Seth’s face from its hiding place, fingers twisting in the mass of curls. Seth’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his pupils blown as he stares at Finn. “I expected better of you, sweetheart.” His tone is a mixture of teasing and mock-disappointment.

Seth grins, a little shyly, attempting to lean further into Finn, but the older man’s grip keeps him firmly where he is, the gentle pain of the Irishman’s hand pulling his hair heightening. “That was your mistake.”

Tyler laughs, an abrupt sound that bounces in the air surrounding them, bright and tinkling, and Seth’s smile grows. Finn fights the urge to show his own amusement.

 _The_ cheek _of these two._ He blames Joe.

Finn shakes his head sadly, sighing. “This one,” he drags Tyler closer in, near enough to Seth that they’re sharing the same breath, “has been a bad influence on you, it seems.”

The blond grins, unrepentant, and tries to get nearer to Seth, Finn’s grip thwarting him, his lower lip pushing out to display his displeasure. _Always so pretty when he pouts,_ Finn muses fondly; that fondness only increases, immeasurably, when Seth lifts his hand, palm out, and Tyler mirrors him, linking their fingers together once again, connecting the three of them.

Silence overtakes the room once more, their breathing - Finn’s, slow and steady; Seth’s and Tyler’s, ragged and heavy - the only sounds, until Tyler _whines_ and leans in again, struggling against Finn’s hold until his lips connect with Seth’s, who responds eagerly, tongue darting out to meet the blond’s, until Finn _yanks_ them away from each other, clicking his tongue.

“You couldn’t behave for even _one minute,_ ” Finn tuts into Tyler’s ear. The younger man offers only a breathless laugh, cut off halfway as Finn slams their lips together, being mindful of his teeth. (He’s always careful with marks when Tyler is scheduled for a shoot.) The blond _melts_ into the contact; Finn feels Seth tucking his face back into his neck, desperately kissing the exposed skin there, that hot tongue licking a path up his carotid.

“Please, please, _please_ ,” Seth is mumbling, Tyler echoing him every time Finn lets him breathe. Seth’s hands are on his belt, Tyler’s at his chest, sliding down his abdomen to join Seth’s, tugging, and Finn is tempted - oh, so _tempted_ \- to let them continue, to have one of them struggle to breathe around his cock as he fucks into his mouth, have the other waiting on the side to lick his release out of the other’s mouth as Finn catches his breath-

Finn releases them both, steps back, makes the effort to keep his breathing steady, unaffected; Seth’s eyes are wide, his mouth agape, while Tyler’s have that familiar, petulant look in them, his lips pursed in another pout. “Not even three minutes ago, I admonished the both of you for touching without my explicit permission - and here we are once again, boys.”

“That’s not fair. You-”

“What did I say about talking back to me, Tyler?” Finn’s voice is hard, stern with authority; the blond snaps his jaw closed, Seth following suit, though he has said nothing. Finn glances at his watch, takes note of how long he’s been gone, and looks back at them, reaching out to pinch Tyler’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand moving to circle firmly around Seth’s wrist. “We’re going to all return upstairs,” begins Finn, flicking his eyes from one to the other. “We’re going to _behave_ -” He stares pointedly at Tyler. “-in front of Joe’s cop. In the morning, you,” he uses his hold on the blond to shake him, gently, “are going to call me, and we’ll set up a time for your punishment.” Tyler opens his mouth to argue; Finn shifts his grip to the younger man’s jaw, pressing lightly enough to avoid bruising, but firmly enough to render the other man incapable of speech. “Don’t. Seth will get his own punishment tonight.” The brunet whines, an echo of Tyler, moments ago, and Finn lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t get out of this scot-free, Seth. You’re both responsible for your own actions, and I’ll be giving both of you a lesson in self-control. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Finn.”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent.” Finn rights his clothes, straightens his belt, and nods for the two younger men to follow suit. “Now,” he says, “let’s go.”

***

Tyler’s cheeks remain beautifully flushed as he takes his seat between Seth and Mustafa, the delightfully naughty glint in his eyes promising more mischief. Finn doesn’t know if he wants to warn Tyler to behave or to let him cause a little havoc, but a glance at Joe (whose attention is almost entirely on Mustafa) helps him decide. He leans over and whispers a message in Seth’s ear, and tells him to pass it on to Tyler. The blond brat pouts adorably, but given that Joe is pretending to be just a regular Joe, Tyler will probably disobey Finn for the sheer _fun_ of it.

Little brat always does like being punished.

The food is simple but delicious, as always; Joe doesn’t cook fancy dishes. Karl asks for the lentil soup recipe for his wife, and Becky complains loudly about some woman who has been trying to get Joe’s number for weeks.

“You should just tell her that Joe’s got himself a boyfriend,” Finn suggests, smiling placidly, as if he doesn’t have his foot hooked around Seth’s ankle and is rubbing up and down his calf slowly. Seth’s ears are bright pink and he keeps his eyes on his food. (As if he’s fooling anyone, really.) “Or maybe Mustafa can hang out later in the bar, let Joe show you off a little.” Then he frowns. “Can you work in a bar? I’m not too familiar with the limitations for Muslims.”

“I don’t really follow all the rules, to be honest. I even drink a little now and again, I just cap it at three beers,” Mustafa says with a smile. “Of course, when it’s the fasting month, I don’t touch alcohol at all.” He glances at Joe and the tips of his ears turn slightly pink. "I also abstain from a number of, um, other things during Ramadan."

Joe smiles. He probably doesn’t even know how _soft_ he looks as he gazes at the young man. “I guess I have a lot to learn.”

Tyler props his chin in a hand. “But you two have already slept together, right?”

“Uh-” Mustafa’s face goes red.

“Tyler,” Joe warns, but the blond waves it off.

“No no, I’m not asking about the sex, Da- _Joe_ , I’m curious about something else. So are cock and ass halal?”

Paige nearly chokes on her mouthful of lamb, and Becky explodes into hysterical giggles. Luke and Karl collapse into helpless laughter, the latter almost falling off his chair. Finn covers his mouth and has to turn away from Joe and Mustafa, hiding his face in Seth’s shoulder, while Seth is shaking with suppressed laughter, his fingers clinging to Finn’s forearm.

It takes a while for the hysterics to calm. Sighing, Joe says, “Tyler, you _brat_ , that is not appropriate dinner conversation.”

Tyler looks entirely unrepentant. “What? I really wanna know!”

Somehow managing to maintain his composure (though he can’t hide his grin), Finn looks over at Mustafa, that little hint of flirtation back in his gaze. “It _is_ something I’ve thought about, too.”

The cute young cop bites his lower lip and stares at his hands, like he doesn’t know how to react, and Joe just drapes a beefy arm around his shoulders and murmurs into his ear. Then Joe says, “Alright, all of you are now to be on your best behavior. No one is to talk about _anything_ related to sex until after dessert.”

“You mean dessert _isn’t_ sex?” Paige teases, eyes bright.

Becky shudders dramatically. “I sure hope not, or at least not with these guys.” When she notices Mustafa’s quizzical expression, she clarifies, “Lesbian.”

Luke peers around the table. “Hang on, are Karl and I the only two straight guys around here?”

“Speak for yourself,” Karl snorts.

“What? You’re married with children and everything!”

“Let’s just say Finn and I didn’t go out to the _onsen_ so often just for the baths.” Karl winks at the Irishman, who rolls his eyes with affectionate exasperation. “Ah, good times. That was pre-wife, of course.”

Finn squeezes Seth’s knee and pecks him on the cheek, as if in reassurance. “That was like, eight, nine years ago? And only three times, because he wanted to know why I was so damn successful at my job.”

“You’re a damn slutty harlot, is what you are,” Paige says with a huge smile on her face.

“I resent that,” Finn retorts. “I am an _amazing_ harlot.”

Joe sighs again. “Baby, don’t judge me by the company I keep. I actually hired them, to pretend I am a normal human being with normal human friends.” He glares at all of them. “You’re all fired, by the way.”

Finally Mustafa laughs, relaxing and leaning into Joe's side, and Finn smiles when he notices how the tension in the big Samoan also eases, and the gentle way he kisses the top of Mustafa’s head. It's almost sweet. The Irishman wants to root for them.

He does not look forward to advising Joe to break up with the cop now than later.

_It’s a goddamn tragedy. Joe, you dumbass, why did you choose a cop to fall in love with?_

***

After dessert, Finn pulls Mustafa to the den and sits next to him, asking him all kinds of questions, while Seth settles on the floor and rests against Finn’s shins. Tyler is on Finn’s other side, holding one of the Irishman’s hands, feet tucked under him on the couch, while the other four help Joe clear the table and wash up. The girls bid goodbye after that - apparently, Joe’s decided not to open the bar tonight, what with the heavy downpour - and then Tyler has to leave too, kissing Finn and Seth on the cheek before he goes to the kitchen to “get a goodbye hug from da- from Joe”. (Mustafa _thinks_ Tyler means to say something else, and he suspects he knows what the socialite meant to say, but that isn’t a pleasant thought to dwell on.) Finn reminds the blond to call in the morning (“and don't forget to keep your evening free, princess”), a lazy smirk hovering on those too-red lips, and the blush that erupts over Tyler’s face is intriguing.

The intimacy among Seth, Tyler and Finn is intriguing also. Finn is evidently fond of Tyler, and he and Seth have yet to stop touching since dinner began. Mustafa thinks it’s cute, the way the taller Seth leans into the older man, and a little strange. It must be a common habit for them, though, because neither Luke nor Karl bat an eye when they see Seth on the floor being petted. Karl starts complaining about Christmas shopping, and Luke teases him about the ordeal being karma for having so many kids.

When Joe gets back to the group, he narrows his eyes at Finn, who only grins and shuffles to the side, taking Mustafa by the wrist, so Joe has to sit behind the young cop. The big man grunts as he sits down, wrapping an arm around Mustafa’s waist and tugging him close.

“Mustafa was just telling us about the time Tyler interrupted your date,” Finn informs Joe. His fingers play with Seth’s hair, combing through long tresses idly. “I suppose Tyler’s made it up to you.”

Watching them, Mustafa suddenly wishes he still has long hair, the way he used to wear it back in high school. He imagines Joe playing with his hair, pulling on it, and fights down a blush.

“Oh, you know our pretty brat. He wants the attention,” Joe says. Pressing a kiss to the back of Mustafa’s neck, he adds, “He was telling me he wants to throw a party for New Year’s Eve. Dissuade him if you can. I don’t want him bugging me for the next two weeks, especially since I’m going away on a trip and can't afford the distraction.”

“A party sounds nice though,” Mustafa says tentatively.

Joe sighs. “Baby, a Tyler Breeze party is much too much. His version of a small party is at least seventy people and probably a live band playing by the pool and maybe a couple of, I don’t know, jugglers or acrobats or fire dancers. He goes all-out with the entertainment. I’d rather stay in with a movie, some good scotch, a rare steak.” His hand sneaks in under the hem of Mustafa’s shirt and strokes his fingertips over the young man’s belly. “Maybe some good company.”

Mustafa’s flush doesn’t go unnoticed. Winking at him, Finn says, “A simple night in sounds great, Joe, and I think Seth will love it too. I've decided. Seth and I are crashing your party. What do you think, sweetheart?”

Smiling, Seth agrees. “A quiet New Year’s Eve sounds good. I don’t think I can deal with a crowd.” He frowns, biting his upper lip, and adds, “Tyler’s gonna sulk when he hears about that, though.”

“I’ll make it up to him,” Finn assures him. “I know Luke won’t miss attending for the world. Tyler always invites some gorgeous babes.”

Luke nods sagely. “Let’s hope I find someone for next year. Everyone’s hooking up and I’m feeling lonely, man.”

“If you’re looking to settle down, my wife’s got a cousin in San Jose-”

“I already see you nearly every day for work, the _hell_ I’m gonna make you family.”

Laughing, Finn checks his watch and then pats Seth’s shoulder. “Come on. I have to be at the Playroom in half an hour and then Karl can drive you home. Joe, a word.”

The four of them leave, Seth getting a full hug from Joe. Finn pulls Joe aside while Seth bids Mustafa goodbye, the Irishman murmuring something in Joe’s ear that makes his face darken for a moment, before the two of them confer briefly with Luke, who only shrugs. The big man walks them down, presumably to lock up after them.

***

As Luke brings the car around, Finn has Seth wait with Karl outside the back door, sheltered by a big umbrella, while he talks to Joe privately inside. Joe is unimpressed by Finn’s advice.

“It’s a casual fling,” he tells the Irishman, folding his arms. “I’m not going to break up with him immediately after he meets you guys, I’m not that much of a dick.”

“Remember when you had me take care of Seth and I said I wish you had your own Seth?” Finn glances over his shoulder at the back door. “I think Mustafa is the one, Joe, I think he’s _it_ , for you. And I’m happy for you, I truly am, but this is going to end in tears. Seth’s not an innocent, he knows we are involved in that sort of business; your cute cop doesn’t. What do you think will happen when he figures it out?”

Joe scoffs. “He’s a beat cop. He’s not going to figure it out. Anyway, I already told him I’m away for a couple weeks. By the time I’m back here, the novelty of this whole thing between us would’ve worn off.”

“I hope to the saints that you’re right,” says Finn. Karl pokes his head in to inform them that the car is here. “Goodnight, Joe. Be safe.”

“Night.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Mustafa feels self-conscious and Joe realizes he's made a mistake.

While Joe is gone, Mustafa is in the bedroom, setting up his phone charger. No messages other than Cedric confirming the time for their workout tomorrow afternoon, before their shift. He’s startled by Joe when he looks up. “Yes?”

“It’s nice having you to myself,” says the older man. He reaches out a hand and the younger man takes it, allowing himself to be reeled in until he’s right in front of Joe. They kiss, leisurely, and then Joe walks him back until they are at the foot of the bed.

“Mm. Wait.”

Joe pauses, an eyebrow raised.

Mustafa licks his lips, suddenly nervous. “I’m gonna need to charge my phone and, and brush my teeth.”

“Alright then. Get ready for bed, baby. I’ve set out a spare toothbrush for you if you didn’t bring yours.” With a small smile, Joe lets go of Mustafa and heads out of the bedroom. Mustafa can hear Joe moving about, putting away chairs from the dinner. The sheer domesticity is overwhelming for the younger man; he _wants_ this, he wants to have his things here, to brush his teeth while Joe putters about outside, and fall asleep in his bed curled against him, and it’s too _early_ in their relationship to admit that, he’s sure of it, and there’s something about Joe’s interaction with Finn that still bothers him.

While he’s flossing, he thinks about the blue-eyed Irishman, the way he and Joe exchange one-armed hugs and their free hands sweeping down the other person’s backs; he recalls the casual way Finn strokes his hand down Joe’s forearm, the banter, the way Finn flirted with Mustafa and Joe not saying a word about it. Mustafa really likes Joe, but he isn’t blind to the fact that Joe isn’t exactly the friendliest nor most approachable of people. He hardly ever initiates touching, Mustafa aside. For Finn to be on such easy terms with Joe...

Mustafa emerges from the en-suite bathroom, doubt gnawing at him, just as Joe comes into the bedroom.

“Hey baby,” the big man says, leaning in to kiss him. “Ready for bed?”

“Is Finn your ex-boyfriend?” Mustafa asks on impulse, a small frown creasing his brow.

“Is-” Joe blinks at him, surprise written all over his face. Then he grins and shakes his head. “Nah, baby, Finn and I have never been anything more than friends. We've seen each other at our worst. He's an asshole, but I trust him."

Mustafa bites the inside of his cheek. If he doesn’t speak up about his misgivings, he’s going to be bothered by it until he knows _for sure_. _Dogged_ _curiosity,_ his instructor had called it back in the academy. He hopes it’s not going to ruin the night.

As if sensing the younger man’s thoughts, Joe tilts Mustafa’s face up. “What is it?”

“I... I’m not trying to sound possessive or clingy but-” The younger man bites his lips. “You and Finn, you two aren’t just friends.” He glances away from Joe, fingertips digging into his palms. “I think you’ve slept together before.”

A long moment of silence. Joe eventually exhales heavily and sits on the bed, pulling on Mustafa’s hand so that he’ll sit down too. “I suppose I can see why you think that."

Mustafa swallows and twines his fingers with Joe’s. They are so different, he thinks, looking at where they are touching, and marvels once again that Joe seems to care so much for him.

“Yes, Finn and I have fucked. I’ve known him fifteen years and we’ve slept together a number of times. But I have never dated him, and I’ve never once wanted to date him, and since you and me started seeing each other, I’ve not slept with him.” Joe smiles at Mustafa, the small curve of his lips reassuring. “Is that all you want to know?”

The young cop gazes at Joe, his mind racing. He can understand why Joe would want to fuck Finn, of course; anyone with eyes and a libido will want a piece of that. But inquisitiveness is part of his nature, so he presses on. “He said he is a professional dom, so... so are you and him... Is he your, um...”

“ _No_. No way in hell, heaven, purgatory, or _in any possible universe_ is that asshole my dom.” Joe chuckles and kisses Mustafa’s knuckles. “If you’re asking whether we’ve _played..._ then yes. We get very rough with each other, much rougher than I'd ever want to with you.” He shrugs carelessly. "It's stress relief."

“Oh.” Mustafa doesn’t quite know how to respond to that. He squirms a little, thinking of their other night, roleplaying with the costume and the silly fuzzy purple cuffs, and suddenly he wishes he’d known that Joe knows more than he let on that night. He must have been so _foolish_ , trying to be kinky, when Joe’s been sleeping with an actual professional who does all the sexy bondage stuff for a living.

As if aware of the direction that Mustafa’s thoughts have taken him, Joe shakes the younger man’s hands gently. “Hey. We had fun the other night. It’s all good, baby, it’s not a competition.”

“I’m glad it’s not, because I don’t even know where to _begin_.” Mustafa pouts, feeling a little aggrieved. Apparently ( _Thankfully_ ) his pout has a different effect on Joe than it does on Cedric, because the big man only laughs softly and leans in to nip at his lower lip. Mustafa frowns, puzzled. “Wait. You’ve slept with Finn, he’s with Seth now, but Tyler and Finn and Seth were kinda handsy earlier, yet you and Tyler..." A moment of revelation flashed across Mustafa's mind. The way Tyler was physically demonstrative with Finn is exactly the same way he was with Joe. His eyes widen as the pieces fall into place. "Oh. _Ohhhh_.”

Joe looks amused. “Oh?”

“Oh as in Tyler is Finn’s sub, and you met Tyler through Finn,” Mustafa muses aloud, distracted with joining up the dots, "and he was about to call you something other than your name, he almost did..." His eyes flick up to stare at Joe in something like awe. " _You’ve slept with Tyler Breeze."_

The older man shakes his head, still grinning ruefully. “Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He kisses Mustafa’s forehead. “Cute _and_ smart. I found myself a good one.”

Mustafa feels absurdly proud of himself, and then his heart sinks. Finn and Tyler? They’re both _gorgeous_. Much more handsome than Mustafa himself, and stylish and rich and certainly very comfortable in themselves. Why does Joe want him when he can have either Finn or Tyler? Or even both?

“I can hear those gears grinding, baby. What’s wrong?”

“Why would you even want _me?_ ” the young man blurts out. “You have gorgeous guys like Tyler and Finn, they’re so glamorous and mysterious and sexy, and they look like they just come off GQ or something, and I’m... Look at me, I’m just a regular dude with a regular job and I can’t _compete_ with them-”

Joe kisses him on the mouth and cuts off the rambling. When he pulls away from Mustafa, he is smiling fondly, like he’s gazing at a fluffy baby bunny or something. “Baby, you are gorgeous, and it really isn’t a competition.”

Mustafa bites his lower lip. “But... They know you better.” He takes a deep breath, trying to express his thoughts coherently. “I’m not doubting that, that you _like_ me, it’s that they know more about the stuff you like sexually, they’re into the whole... thing.”

“The whole ‘thing’?”

“The... the kinky stuff. The bondage and the, I don’t know, chains and whips and all that.” Mustafa’s gaze falls to his hands, and he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. The back of his neck is hot and prickles with embarrassment and resentment. He’s never been jealous of anyone before, and he hates that he may be the type to resent his boyfriend's exes.

Joe hums thoughtfully. He takes Mustafa’s hand and pulls him to his feet, saying, “Come with me.”

***

The look on Mustafa’s face as he takes in the array of tools and toys Joe likes to use is _precious_. They’re in the office, on the floor, the sliding doors of the cabinets open and some of their contents taken out of their boxes for examination.

The younger man is both fascinated and shy as he studies the floggers, the whips, and the different types of ropes Joe keeps around (Joe loves ropes - they’re so useful for so many activities and purposes), and he’s now picking through the selection of gags and restraints Joe’s collected over the years. Some are presents from Finn, still in their packaging. A few are ridiculous - Tyler likes buying the most outrageous stuff, and Joe has, on more than one occasion, used them on the blond. Watching Mustafa handle them is giving Joe many _ideas_ , most of which will likely intimidate the young man.

They’ve tested out a couple of cuffs (definitely interested), some of the gags (yes to the bit gag, maybe to the ball gag, flat out refusal of the penis gag - Mustafa burst out laughing at it), and the spreader bar (another flat no), and the young man has expressed interest in wearing a collar (although the only one Joe has on hand is pigskin, so they don’t try that on).

“What’s this?” Mustafa asks, holding up a palm-sized piece of leather with straps and metal studs all over it.

“Muzzle.”

Mustafa’s eyes widen and his cheeks flare red. He sets it down quickly, but Joe’s already seen the spark of interest in his big eyes. Joe picks up the muzzle and motions for Mustafa to sit closer.

The young man gulps. “I-I don’t know if...”

“You won’t know until you try it on,” Joe cajoles. “Take it off if you don’t like it. Come here, baby.”

After some hesitation, Mustafa obliges, his hands clenching and relaxing atop his thighs. Joe places the muzzle on the young man’s face, arranging the panel carefully, and Mustafa inhales sharply once his nose and mouth are covered. It’s a shame to hide those plump lips, but the muzzle only brings out the intense beauty of his eyes, his long, dark lashes fluttering as he blinks.

 _That’s a promising sign,_ Joe thinks, and murmurs, “Turn around, let me adjust the straps... There. Make sure you can breathe easily, baby.”

The muzzle is secured close to Mustafa’s face, not so tight as to pinch. He has his eyes closed, his breathing steady but heavy, and he keeps touching the leather. When he opens his eyes again to face Joe, his gaze darker than before, as if he’s only allowed to communicate silently now that his mouth is muffled. Joe trails his thick fingers along the edges of the muzzle and Mustafa’s eyes close slowly, as if basking in warmth. Pink blooms over his cheekbones and colors the tips of his ears.

“You like it?” Joe whispers.

Opening his eyes, Mustafa nods. He swallows, the ripple of his throat evident, and runs his fingers over the muzzle again, rubbing lightly over the steel studs, plucking at the straps, but he doesn’t take it off. Joe pictures himself holding Mustafa by the neck, carefully restricting his breathing, imagines blossoming blues and purples on light brown skin, Mustafa’s full, soft lips warm and hypersensitive from being trapped under the leather. He gazes at Mustafa, who stares directly at him, fearless and honest in his desire.

Joe shifts the rest of the stuff to the side and pats his thighs. “Come to Daddy.”

Mustafa shifts onto his knees, and slowly crawls into Joe’s lap, draping his long legs on either side of the big man. The young man’s breathing is heavy; it must be getting warm under the leather. Joe’s own eyes drift close as Mustafa starts grinding lazily against him, the younger man’s arms draped over Joe’s broad shoulders. When he opens his eyes again, he sees that Mustafa has thrown his head back, exposing his throat, an unconscious and enthusiastic surrender as he rocks himself against Joe. The young man’s arousal is evident now, even if still constrained in faded jeans, and Joe tugs him closer so he can lick and suck at that long neck. Mustafa makes a _wounded_ sound, his hands clutching at Joe’s shoulders, and presses closer, his legs wrapping as best as he can around Joe.

Joe gropes up strong thighs to grip Mustafa’s ass, his tongue sweeping a line up the neck to the edge of the muzzle. He sucks at the patch of skin just under Mustafa’s jaw, nips at the earlobe, every move pulling more wordless moans from the young man’s throat. "You want to take it to the bedroom, baby?"

Mustafa shakes his head and disengages from Joe. In a fluid motion, he pulls off his shirt, and tugs impatiently at the older man’s shirt. His fingers pluck at the first button but he doesn’t undo it, his big, pretty eyes blinking at Joe.

"Right here, baby? You wanna do it right here?" Joe thinks Mustafa is smiling under the muzzle.

The young man nods, his hips never stopping in their grinding. Joe removes his shirt. Mustafa moans as he runs his hands over the big man, plays with his nipples and earns a low, warning growl; he straightens up enough to unbutton his jeans.

"Enough," Joe says, pulling Mustafa's eager hands away and placing them back on his shoulders. He unzips the young man himself, tugging down jeans and briefs just enough to free Mustafa's erection, before he reaches behind him for the nearest chair and gets the young man to sit on it, tugging his jeans and underwear down all the way to muscled calves. Then Joe leans forward to suck, hard, his hands on strong hips keeping Mustafa still. Just to take the edge off; there will be time for more leisurely sex later.

The muzzle barely muffles the wail that erupts from Mustafa. He digs his blunt fingertips into Joe's shoulders, bowing his body over the older man's head; his legs are trapped by his clothes so he can't spread them more and he can't move away, not even an inch, because Joe is holding him in place.

The big man doesn't let up. He likes sucking cock, likes how the other party is completely subject to his mouth and tongue; it's a heady rush of power. He didn't expect Mustafa to react this strongly to the muzzle in the first place, and he can't wait to pull it off to kiss him, drive the young man mad with how sensitive his plump lips are going to be.

With a sharp inhalation, Mustafa tenses - the only warning Joe gets - and then he _comes_ with a choked gasp, his hands clutching helplessly at Joe. The big man doesn't swallow, however; he keeps Mustafa's come in his mouth, and then tugs Mustafa into his lap again, helping the young man finish off completely on his chest and belly, before he pulls the muzzle off and kisses him.

The mere touch of his lips to Mustafa's makes the younger man whimper, and then Joe pushes his tongue into that hot, thirsty mouth, sharing the taste of Mustafa himself. The younger man trembles and moans again, licking hungrily into Joe's mouth, unwilling to part from him even for a breath. He doesn't stop kissing the big man, as if stopping would mean the end of the world; they end up on Joe's back, lips locked together, limbs entwining.

It takes a while before Mustafa even pauses for breath. His cheeks are flushed, and his skin is warm and faintly damp where the muzzle was. Pushing himself up on his hands, he gazes down and smiles shyly at Joe. "Well. I, uh, wasn't expecting that."

"I'm glad the muzzle does something for you, baby." Joe grins at him, swiping off a stray drop of ejaculate on his chest and licking it from his finger. They are a _mess_ between them. "I guess it's safe to say that you're ready to play, and I can't wait to bring more out of you."

"You- You mean that?" Mustafa asks, getting off of Joe. He kicks off his jeans and briefs, before looking back at the Samoan, his arms going around his trim waist. "You want me? Even though I’m not- I don't know. Not _Tyler Breeze_ , who’s-” His cheeks color with embarrassment (embarrassed, despite having literally just shared his own _come_ with the man in front of him, _after_ his dick had been in said man’s mouth) as he continues, voice small, his words sounding childish to his own ears. “ _GQ_ hot. Literally, _GQ_ hot. I’m pretty sure he was on one of their cover pages, last year.”

"He was,” Joe responds, fond amusement in his eyes. “He didn’t shut up about it for _weeks_ beforehand, when they’d asked him; he did deserve to be pleased with it, though.” He brushes back Mustafa’s hair with one wide palm. “You are beyond ‘ _GQ_ hot’," Joe murmurs and kisses him fervently. "You're perfect, baby. I'm going to love teaching you."

He hears Mustafa breathe in sharply, and then the young man nuzzles close. He mumbles something into Joe's neck, something like _I'm trying to take it slow, but you're making it difficult, this wasn’t supposed to happen so fast, I think I lo-_

Now it's Joe's turn to almost stop breathing. He doesn't reply, only holds Mustafa close to kiss the soft patch of skin near his ear, pretending he hasn't heard a thing, and thinks, _Finn was right. Goddammit, Joe, you fucked up. Listen to the bastard, for once, and end this._

Mustafa peers at him, his eyes glistening. “I wish you weren’t going away for two weeks, Daddy, I’m gonna miss you.”

Still inwardly cursing at himself and Finn, Joe smiles at him. He says, "I’m gonna miss you too, baby. Come on, let’s clean up before bed. The floor is killing my back."


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Seth wants to play, Finn teaches him to obey, and they learn a few things about each other's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of past abuse

They haven’t stopped kissing and groping since they got in the Jaguar, even when Karl threatened to stop the car and throw them out into the rain to cool down. Finn only laughed, tugging Seth to sit in his lap, and continues making out with him until the car pulls into the underground private parking lot.

“Get a room, you two,” Luke scolds as he and Karl head towards their own vehicles to drive home. “Just because your appointment cancelled on you...”

“Shush. Let me enjoy a free evening for once.” Finn tears himself away from Seth for a moment. "Oh, and give me the keys to the Jaguar."

Luke tosses them at the Irishman. "Sorry, broski. Slipped my mind."

"Mexican tomorrow," Finn reminds him. He knows Luke and Karl will deal with that chef EC3 hired, some celebrity chef from Mexico who always wears a mask, to clear the way for Joe to take his place as a substitute chef.

Paperwork is already ready from the 619’s kitchen (all fake, of course, but the documents are even in the restaurant’s own hard disk). Everything's falling in place. EC3 isn't leaving Los Angeles alive. (It should worry Finn that it’s so _easy_ to fall back into that life, being a middleman for such contracts; he isn’t that concerned though, because he’s that damn good at what he does, and he knows that Joe won’t let him take another contract.)

Seth is giggly and flushed, his hair already a fluffy mane about his face. He pulls Finn towards the elevator, and the Irishman pretends to follow reluctantly, although he has a wide smile on his face, and the smile turns into a smirk when Seth _yanks_ and pins the shorter man against the wall to grind against him, their height difference making it perfect for him to ride Finn’s thigh.

“I wish Tyler could’ve joined us,” Seth murmurs, sounding half-asleep. The hardness in his pants is another story entirely, of course.

Finn tangles a hand into dark brown hair and grips, holding the younger man still for a moment while they kiss hungrily, all tongues and teeth. When he releases Seth and presses the button for the elevator, he says, “He has a shoot in the morning, love, he can’t risk playing tonight.”

He’s glad that Seth’s mood seems to have lifted a little since the confrontation with his friends. Or maybe Seth is trying to find a distraction from his distress, not that Finn disapproves. They can’t keep their hands off each other for even the short ride up to the penthouse, and by the time they stumble into the TV den, they’re both barefoot, Seth’s already shirtless and Finn is trying to undo the younger man’s belt with one hand, the other unwilling to let go of the back of Seth’s neck.

“I wanna play,” Seth whines, biting at Finn’s lower lip, his breathing harsh. “I wanna _play_ , I want you to hold me down again, _use_ me-”

Finn growls and pushes Seth onto the couch before he straddles the young man. (They’ve already had a good talk, going over the Playroom’s checklist, and the Irishman can’t help wanting to explore his new lover’s kinks. This is always the best part, he believes, because sometimes it just takes the right person to play with to discover a whole new world of pleasure.)

"Play? Sweetheart, you're going to be _punished_ ," Finn reminds him. "Or have you forgotten what I promised in Joe's office?"

Seth's eyes go wide. He swallows, licking his lips, and suddenly looks a little apprehensive. Finn rubs his thumb over Seth’s right cheek and cocks his head, studying the younger man’s reactions.

“Rules: you do what I tell you to do. If you feel like it’s getting too intense, ask for a pause and then I want you to count to ten mentally. If, at the end of the count, it’s still too much, you may ask to stop.” They kiss, sweet and gentle. “But always, if you feel that something is wrong, if it hurts in a bad way, just say your safeword, which is...?”

“Penthouse,” Seth replies dutifully.

Finn grins at him. “Good. Mine is Shinjuku, and if I say we stop, we _stop_. Completely.” He exhales slowly, hands sliding down Seth’s shoulders and arms, gathering up the reins of his control. “Now. You were naughty earlier in Joe’s office. How were you naughty, Seth?”

The younger man shivers. “I told Tyler he could kiss me and touch me as he wanted,” he says in a low voice, his eyes downcast. “And then I kissed him again, even after you told us to stop.”

“Hmm. Yes. And I don’t like behavior like that, sweetheart. I feel disrespected when you blatantly disobey me,” Finn murmurs. “Tyler is a brat who wants to be punished. Are you going to be a brat too, sweetheart? Do you want me to praise you for being good, or to punish you for being naughty?”

“I-” Seth’s breath catches as his doe eyes flick up to meet Finn’s gaze. “I want... I want to be good.”

“It is your first transgression, love, so I will give you a chance to prove that you can be a good boy.” Finn rubs his thumbs in circles on Seth’s wrists. “You’re going to listen to my instructions tonight and obey them very well, do you understand? What should I do if you can’t control yourself?”

The brunet trembles and swallows. “I... What would please you?”

“I think,” Finn muses aloud, “that I will put clamps on you, darling, and you’ll have to _earn_ a way to get them off of you. And you will wear them all tomorrow at work if you don’t listen to me tonight.”

Seth is staring, either aroused or nervous, and Finn takes the chance to roll and pinch his nipples, making him yelp. The Irishman grins. “I know you’re very sensitive here, and it will _hurt_ after a while, darling, so let’s try to be good, okay?”

“Yeah, yes,” Seth says, his eyes a little glazed over. “I’m gonna be good. I promise I’ll be good.”

“Cover your eyes,” the Irishman orders in a low whisper, even as his own hands busy themselves undoing the button and zip on Seth’s jeans. Seth complies, tongue swiping over his lips. Finn tugs Seth’s jeans down and palms the erection already peeking from the top of the waistband of his underwear. The younger man whimpers, his breath hitching, and Finn kisses him softly as he pulls his lover’s briefs down to his knees, and then whips off his own tie. Part of him contemplates gagging Seth with it, and then a new idea blooms in his head. He winds it loosely around Seth’s erect cock, loving the contrast in color. Seth makes a querying noise in his throat, both distressed and curious at the same time, his hands pressed to his eyes.

“Wanna know what it is, sweetheart? It’s my tie, wrapped around your cock,” Finn purrs. He grasps Seth’s hot erection and starts stroking, slowly and gently, the fabric shifting as he moves his hand. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Oh god.” Seth shivers. Precome beads on the tip of his cock and rolls down, to be soaked into the silk. “Finn, your _tie-”_

“That’s my favorite tie, did you know?” It is, that's the thing; it was made for him by one of his earliest clients in Japan, and he's always treasured it. His name is embroidered in katakana into the silk, the lining a brilliant blue that she swore matched his eyes.

“No,” Seth whispers. He licks his lips, and a shudder travels through him. More precome dribbles from his cock, slick fluid trailing down his shaft to be absorbed by the fabric, and he trembles, biting his lower lip. “Finn, you’re gonna - the tie, it’ll get filthy, you _can’t-_ ”

Finn leans in, mouth to Seth’s ear, his hand still moving at a steady pace, and murmurs, “Can’t you just picture it, sweetheart? Imagine me walking around town with this tie, _this very tie_ that’s getting _soaked_ with your scent, darling, it’s gonna _reek_ of you, and you won’t be allowed to tell anyone.” He nuzzles Seth’s jaw, brushing their beards together. “Wouldn’t that be _fun_?"

Seth jolts helplessly. “Finn, please, I wanna touch you.”

“I’ve bought a few for you too, love,” Finn continues, relentlessly stroking, marveling at how easily Seth succumbs to him. The fabric is wet, and clings obscenely to skin. (Finn will have to tip his dry-cleaner a huge amount. Or maybe he won’t even send it in for cleaning - he could just wash it himself, keep it as a memento.) Seth clenches his fists, but his eyes remain closed. The Irishman slows down, waits until Seth’s fingers relax, and then shifts so he can kiss Seth. “And one day you’re going to wear one that I pick, and you’ll watch as I do this on _my_ cock with it; you’ll go around parading my scent, sweetheart, you’d be smelling of me all day.” Seth whines, hips bucking, and the tie gets wetter. Finn grins and nips at Seth’s lower lip. “You’d like that, sweetheart, you’d _love_ it. You’d want everyone to know without being told who has marked you, don’t you? I bet you’d let me fuck you in front of anyone if I wanted to, so long as it’s _me_ laying claim to you.”

“Yes,” Seth gasps, cheeks flushed, the red spreading down his neck to his chest. “You - you _can_ , I don’t even care, you can have me on my knees for you anywhere, Walk of Fame, TCL, the Boulevard, fuck, I swear, _Finn,_ please just-” He utters a soft, desperate cry as Finn tightens his grip. “I wanna- Finn, I need to come, I want to come-”

“Say please.”

“Please, Finn!”

“Not yet, darling, not yet,” Finn murmurs, unwinding the tie from Seth’s flushed and wet cock. He climbs off of Seth. Other than the light in the hallway, none of the lights in the apartment are switched on, so all they have is the distant skyglow and the glittering lights of the city, and Seth is _stunning_ , a debauched mess on the couch with his head thrown back, his hair a halo about his face, his hands still resolutely covering his eyes because he’s determined to be obedient. His mouth is parted, his chest heaving, and his erect cock - Finn’s mouth waters looking at it, and he decides how he wants the night to end. “I’m going to get our supplies from the bedroom. Wait here, and don’t peek.”

Seth makes a soft yearning sound in his throat, but he nods.

Condoms and lube are retrieved rapidly, and Finn shucks off his own clothes, humming to himself. He's grabbing the blanket for later when he hears Seth call out for him, his voice shaky. "Finn?"

Hearing the note of distress in Seth’s voice, Finn hurries back to the young man. “I’m here, darling, I’m here.”

“Finn, I don’t think I can keep my eyes covered any longer,” Seth whispers. His shoulders are tense, his fingers stiff. “I-I can’t... I promise, I’m trying, I’ve _counted_ , twice, but I can’t-”

“Hush, it’s alright, you can lower your hands now, love, it’s alright.” Finn puts aside the things in his hands and hugs Seth, crawling over him so he is seated on Seth’s thighs as Seth lowers his hands. The younger man is shivering, his skin clammy. “You’re safe, I’m here.” He kisses Seth’s forehead and eyes, brushing over his eyelids tenderly. “You wanna tell me what made it feel bad?”

Seth swallows, his arms wrapped loosely around Finn and his face pressed to the crook of the Irishman’s neck and shoulder. “You went away. I knew - I _knew_ you were in the bedroom, but suddenly I thought, _What if he left you, what if he’s abandoned you here_ , and I freaked out.”

“Sweetheart, you could’ve said your safeword, stop covering your eyes.”

“But I wanted - I needed you to know I was obeying, I wanted- I wanted to prove-” He chokes on the word and gasps for breath. “I wanted you to be proud of me for being _good_.”

“ _Is leathcheann mé_ ,” Finn mutters to himself. He combs his fingers through Seth’s fluffy hair and presses kisses to his cheek. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry. You were doing well, darling, we were having fun. I shouldn't have left you alone.”

“You didn’t know.” Seth sniffs and pulls away, just far enough so he can look into Finn’s eyes. “ _I_ didn’t know that was a trigger.”

“So do you want to call it a night?” Finn asks, brushing Seth’s hair away from his eyes. The younger man rests his forehead against Finn’s shoulder.

Seth hesitates, his breathing slowing down and his hands skating over Finn's bare thighs. Then he shakes his head. "I want to continue," he says. He lifts his head, tilting up his face to Finn. "It's just a hiccup. Not a hard stop."

The older man leans down and kisses him gently, tenderly, licking at soft lips as he brushes his thumbs over Seth's scruffy jaw until tension bleeds out of it and Seth is moaning quietly into the kisses. Finn smiles when he feels Seth reaching for his cock, and nips his lower lip. "Naughty boy. I didn't say you can touch."

"You're rubbing all over my abs," Seth protests, but his hand goes back to Finn's waist.

"Just for that, I'm going to have you keep your hands where I can see them." Finn licks and bites lightly on Seth's ear. "Teach you to keep your hands to yourself. The way you didn't back at the bar."

"That's not fair-"

"Fairness doesn't come into this, darling," Finn chides, pulling on the mass of curls again until the younger man is looking right at him. "You have to learn how to behave, and one of the lessons is that _you don't touch without my permission_."

Seth gulps and licks his lips. He whispers, "Yes sir."

"Good boy. Hands behind your head."

He savors Seth's astonishment as he rolls the condom on the young man's erection. Finn is a connoisseur and he thinks it is a _beautiful_ cock, a good girth and length, perfect for playing with. (Of course he may be biased, but still.) He's already ordered a few new toys just for Seth ("restraints and denial are fun if I don't have to be blindfolded," Seth has said; Finn is going to test just how far he can push him), and he can't wait to see how the younger man will respond to them.

The tie is within reach. Finn smiles wickedly, bringing it to his nose to breathe in the scent, and then uses it to loop loosely around Seth's wrists. It’s more a reminder of restraints than actually securing his hands. Then he runs slick lubricant over Seth's cock.

Seth gasps and his hips jerk. "Finn, I've not- Five years, I haven't, I don't know if I can hold back-"

"You'll just have to prove that you can, won't you?" Finn replies cheerfully. He fingers himself briefly, one hand braced on Seth's shoulder and the other hand behind him, his flexibility on show. He doesn't do more than a cursory stretch before he grasps Seth's arousal and sinks down on it with a sigh, relishing the burn as he takes it into himself, inch by inch.

Seth looks like he's being shocked with lightning, eyes so wide that Finn can see the whites all around, and his mouth is open too, gasping in air like a dying fish. His surprise is comical, and Finn laughs with fond adoration, wincing when a twinge of pain shoots up his spine.

"If you and Tyler had behaved yourselves," Finn whispers, "I'd have had him sucking me off right now, even as you fuck into me... Or I'd have loved to watch you put your mouth on him and his on you, darling, have you both pleasure each other. And then I would've had you both, one after the other, or let both of you take turns to fuck me. See which of you can make me come first."

The words make Seth whine, his facility with speech abandoning him completely. Finn kisses him, licks into his mouth, and pushes his elbows apart so his chest is thrust out more. Finn scrapes his fingers over the young man's pecs, scratches his thumbnails over Seth's nipples to make him squirm and yelp before he pinches them.

Seth cries out and his hips jerk, hard, and _that_ gets him even more on the edge than before. The older man laughs again at the slightly stunned look on Seth's face. He then adjusts his position, every motion making Seth groan and whine, and then Finn rises up before slamming down again and again, his hands tangled in Seth's dark hair as he rides the brunet, sweat beading over his skin.

"Better ride than anything in Disneyland," Finn teases, breathless, and shuts his eyes as he throws his head back to truly enjoy fucking himself on Seth's cock. (Five years of no one appreciating a gorgeous cock like this? Hunter and his cronies are dumb as dirt.) Every time he sinks down, he drives a soft, wild noise out of the younger man, almost as if _Seth’s_ the one being pounded into; Finn opens his eyes as he’s approaching his climax, grinning to see Seth biting his lower lip, the muscles in his arms taut and his bound hands clenched. He clearly wants to touch Finn, but he can’t; Finn doesn’t do more than place a hand on Seth’s chest and the other tangled in his hair; their only other bit of physical contact is where they’re joined.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and then stops moving entirely to catch his breath. Then he climbs off of Seth, wincing as he does. The loss makes Finn shudder, but this is part of teaching Seth to have patience, and to obey. He pulls off the condom and tosses it onto the coffee table.

“What- Finn, you can’t just-” The young man looks betrayed. “Finn, you _can’t_ stop, not like this...”

Already standing, Finn takes Seth’s bound hands from behind his head and pulls, so Seth’s arms are stretched out in front of him, and then Finn tugs. “On your knees, darling,” he says.

Instantly the younger man gets off the couch and falls to his knees. He licks his lips, gazing up at Finn, and his eyes skim down to stare at Finn’s erection.

 _You think it’s going to be that easy?_ The older man caresses Seth’s scruffy jaw and then unwinds part of the filthy tie. Then he starts backing away towards the bedroom, the end of the tie held in his hand.

Seth’s brow creases in uncertainty. “Finn?”

“Follow me, sweetheart.” When Seth tries to get on his feet, Finn tuts and pulls, unbalancing him. “Follow me _on your knees._ ”

The young man inhales sharply, his lower lip trembling, before he begins to shuffle forward. Finn grins as he continues walking backwards, leisurely, admiring the view. It’s slow going, of course, and Seth’s knees are going to be a wreck at the end of it, but the young man isn’t thinking about that at all, his lovely eyes fixed on him as he follows Finn like an obedient puppy.

A collar with a bell. That's what Finn is going to buy him, when they know if this is going to work for them both.

Finn exhales with pride when they get to the bedroom. He removes the tie and leaves it on Seth’s knees. “Sit there, sweetheart, and be quiet.”

Seth complies, eyes bright as he watches Finn settle on the edge of the wide bed. Finn studies the younger man who’s on his knees, waiting, his hands holding that ruined tie; he strokes himself idly and knows Seth can’t help staring.

“Hold the end of the tie with your teeth and bring that to me on your hands and knees, darling,” Finn orders. Seth obeys, moving on all fours, eyes never looking away from the older man’s face. Finn smiles, pleased, and once Seth is close enough, he takes the tie and tosses it aside, pulling Seth’s hands onto his thighs. “Good boy _._ You’re so good when you _try_ , sweetheart, so amazingly well-behaved. I’m pleased.”

Seth melts into the praise, his smile brilliant and happy. Finn can’t help but kiss him on the mouth, drink in the smile. “Now, talk to me. What have you learned?”

“That I have to obey instructions,” Seth says.

“Are you allowed to touch without my permission?”

“No,” Seth replies immediately.

Finn kisses him again. “Clever boy.” He sucks lightly on the younger man’s lower lip and then releases him. “Now, on your feet, put another condom on, and let’s finish what we started outside.” With a lazy smirk, Finn moves into the center of the bed, and rolls over onto his belly. “And it’s your turn to do the hard work, sweetheart. Make me come.” He peers over his shoulder at Seth, who looks a little stunned again, and adds with a sultry purr, “And if you can make me _scream,_ I’ll let you decide how you get to play with Tyler.”

***

Much later, Seth wakes up, wide-eyed and shaking, feeling a phantom chill surrounding him. He sits up slowly and massages his wrists. Beside him, Finn sighs and rolls onto his side; his beautiful face is utterly at peace, his soft lips parted.

 _I’m not back there. I’m not alone._ Seth takes deep breaths, in and out, and then rubs away the wetness on his cheeks. _I’m not alone._

“Seth? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Seth glances behind him and sees Finn getting up on his elbows, perplexed and concerned. Seth makes himself smile. “Nothing. Just... bad dreams.”

With a sigh, Finn lies down, extending an arm for Seth to lie down on. He doesn’t order Seth to do so, however; he just waits for the younger man to decide. Seth takes the offer and snuggles close, letting the scent and warmth of the Irishman comfort him.

“You wanna tell me about your dreams?”

“I feel bad,” Seth admits. “I don’t want to burden you with them.”

The older man chuckles quietly and kisses his forehead. “It’s no burden, darling, if I can ease whatever pain you carry.”

 _Why are you so good to me?_ Seth wants to ask, but he only smiles and peers up at Finn. “You’re so corny sometimes.”

“Hmm. Strange for a kid from Ireland. I should be more ‘spuddy’, no? All them potatoes.” Finn grins. They lie there together in the darkness, and just as Seth thinks Finn has drifted back to sleep, the Irishman says, “I hated handcuffs at first.”

“Excuse me?”

“Handcuffs,” Finn repeats. “Hated them. Hated having my wrists restrained. I was a teen delinquent - no surprise there - and one day, just after I turned nineteen, this cop caught me. He put the cuffs on real tight, so tight I thought I’d lose my wrists. And then he took me someplace quiet.” When Seth stiffens next to him, Finn explains, “No, he wasn’t looking for sex. I think I’d have been okay with that. Already been sucking cock for cash at that time. I didn't like being where I was, didn't care one way or the other about getting hurt. But it turns out his nephew had been beaten up by me and a couple of my buddies, some stupid turf bullshit, and he decided that he was going to use me as a lesson. Beat me up real bad and that was the first time I wanted, _really_ wanted to stay alive.”

Seth wraps his right arm around the other man’s trim waist. “I’m sorry it happened to you.”

Finn sighs, nuzzling into the crown of the younger man’s head. “It was during that incident that Sir found me. Got me to hospital, paid the bills, and then I began training under him. Learned to value myself. And here I am.” He strokes Seth’s arm, almost sleepily. “Would I have met you otherwise? Perhaps. But we’re here now.”

“We are here, now,” Seth repeats in a murmur. He sighs and cuddles closer. “I know it's dumb, to be this frightened. They’re just dreams. Memories. They can’t hurt me now.” His toes curl against Finn’s shin, and then he confides in a rush, “He almost always blindfolded me.”

Finn knows who _he_ is. He doesn’t comment, just holds Seth, and waits.

“One time, when Hunter was talking to someone else, and I pointed out an error - I hadn’t meant to, I just blurted it out - and Hunter was _angry_ , but he didn’t show it. He never shows it, until we’re alone. That night - it was just a couple days after Christmas, and we were in Connecticut. At that time, Stephanie was pregnant so it was just me and him. We stayed in his house, and I remember it was cold outside, colder than I'd ever felt. He shackled me to the bed, and blindfolded me, and I thought it was just like any other time, but...” His fingers are numb. Nevertheless, he persists. “Three hours. I think. Maybe four. I don’t know exactly. I waited, and waited, and I could hear the wind. It was _so cold_ , and I was naked and I couldn’t see... And when I called out for him there wasn’t any reply. I thought I was going to die. I was so scared that I threw up on myself, and I fought the shackles, I tried to get free and they cut my wrists raw, and the blindfold never came off."

With a shuddering sigh, Seth holds Finn tightly. The Irishman kisses him, hands running over his bare arms and down the sides of his torso.

"Hunter... Hunter was there the whole time, he said, but _next time_ he wouldn't be. That it was punishment for me talking out of turn. That I deserved it. After that, every time he put the blindfold on I had to fight down my panic. Every single time.”

Beside him, Finn is utterly, completely silent, but Seth can sense rage pouring off of him. Tentatively, Seth levers himself up on his elbow. “I’m sorry. Was that... Was it too much?”

“Seth,” Finn murmurs, “say the word, and I will _raze_ Hunter and everything he has to the ground. _Ar uaigh mo mháthar_ , I will make him pay for the pain he put you through.”

“Don’t you guys have a deal?” Seth jokes weakly.

“Fuck the deal.” Finn cups Seth’s cheek, then tangles his hand into dark curls. His usual smile is gone, and his snarl is ferocious and protective. “I wish I could erase the horrors you’ve been through, darling, I wish I could help you forget all that shit, but by the good Lord above and all his angels, I promise I will personally _end_ the next person to hurt you.”

Despite Finn’s angry scowl, Seth feels a grateful joy explode in his heart. _Everything I’ve been through to get me here, to get me to you..._ He leans down, kisses the fierce expression off of Finn’s face, and whispers, “Please, help me forget.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (all translations are from Google. Gaeilge speakers correct me if i'm wrong)
> 
> Is leathcheann mé: I'm an idiot  
> Ar uaigh mo mháthar: on my mother's grave


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Tyler gets punished.

Sasha ( _Miss_ Sasha, to Tyler) tilts her head and smirks as Tyler walks into the Playroom, the door held open by Karl. She holds out a bright gold leather jacket to him. "Help me put it on, Tyler."

"Of course, Miss Sasha." Tyler is always polite to her. Finn has made it very clear that none of his subs is to give her lip, or he will cut them from his list. Besides, Tyler respects her. For all that Sasha is petite, she exudes authority, and will take no shit from her subs. If he were interested in women in any way, he'd have wanted to be hers. That one time she and Finn held a joint session remains one of his fondest memories.

She fluffs out her hair - half ponytail today - and twirls around. "How do I look?"

"Like a boss."

Miss Sasha grins as she studies him. "You're in trouble, aren't you? Finn's brought out the rack."

Tyler bites his lower lip. “It was only a bit of fun,” he protests meekly.

He knows that it’s no excuse, but he really hadn’t intended to embarrass anyone. But Finn did warn him downstairs, in Daddy Joe’s office, and he warned him again when they had sat down to dinner. Joe also texted Tyler that afternoon to tell him that Finn will be punishing Tyler on his behalf, since he has to go on a job trip. _The rack..._ Tyler rubs his arms and shivers. Flogging is definitely on the table, and whipping. Finn may even use wax, because Tyler does not like it. It's punishment. Discipline happens when they're correcting his behavior, but they know he knows the rules and flouted them.

It's not as if he wants them to be _annoyed_ with him. Both Finn and Daddy are incredibly patient with Tyler, and they take pains to ensure he behaves the way they want him to. And he does, most of the time. It's just that sometimes, he wants to push their limits, or he wants more attention. Like last night, when both Finn and Daddy were focused on innocent Mustafa and his soulful eyes and kissable lips, and Tyler just wanted them to remember he was there too.

His apprehension must show on his face. Sasha laughs and pats his cheek fondly. “You keep getting yourself into trouble, kiddo. They love your antics, even if they’ll never admit it.” She grins at him and heads out the door, hand tucked in Karl’s elbow, while the bodyguard carries her work satchel; she must be making a house call.

Feeling a little nervous, Tyler goes to Finn’s room and knocks on the door. No one answers. He hesitates, debating if he ought to knock again or wait. Just as he is about to knock a second time, he hears Finn’s smooth voice telling him to go in.

“Good evening Finn,” Tyler says as soon as he steps inside, and makes sure he doesn’t look anywhere other than at the man seated in the wingback chair in the middle of the room. Only the reading lamp over Finn’s shoulder is on; everything else is in shadow.

Finn isn’t smiling. He points to a thin cushion laid at his feet. “The usual procedure, Tyler. And tonight it’ll be _Sir_.”

“Yes, sir.” Tyler quickly undresses, folding his clothes to set by the door next to his loafers. He’s in a black leopard print shirt and jeans, the most nondescript outfit he owns. Naked, he goes to the cushion and kneels, eyes downcast to stare at Finn’s polished leather shoes.

The flat tongue of Finn’s favorite crop smacks lightly on the corner of Tyler’s jaw, skims down to his chin and tilts the younger man’s face up. Finn’s eyes are intensely dark in this low light. Tyler has to push down the flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach, though he can’t help licking his lips.

“How was your day with the plug?” Finn asks.

Tyler shifts uneasily. Early that morning, just after five when he woke up so he could get to hair and makeup, he called Finn, hoping it would go to voicemail. Unfortunately, Finn answered, and ever since 5.30am. Tyler has been wearing one of Finn’s gifts in his ass. “It was a little uncomfortable, sir.”

As if aware of Tyler’s thoughts, Finn fishes out a small remote. “Guess I should make it better.” He presses a small button and the plug in Tyler buzzed. The blond jerks, startled by the vibrations. He sucks on his lower lip and digs his manicured fingers into his skin. Goosebumps prickle up his back and over his arms. Finn’s thumb slides over the button, again and again, not even looking at Tyler as he puts aside the crop. “Was it difficult posing for the photos?”

“No, sir,” Tyler answers. He bites the inside of his cheek and whimpers when Finn jabs the button once more and a stronger burst of vibrations jolt through him.

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want you to be unprofessional.” Setting aside the remote, leaving the plug buzzing inside Tyler, Finn takes out his phone and starts texting. "Joe’s on a job, as you know, but what we’re doing tonight comes from him too." He focuses on his texting for a while, leaving the younger man fighting hard to stay still. Only after a few minutes does Finn set down his phone and turn off the plug. “I know you _love_ instigating punishments, but the lessons... it’s getting harder for them to stick, it seems. So I have spent all day discussing with Joe about what to do with you so that you’ll really learn to behave appropriately.”

Tyler shifts uneasily on his knees. That can mean a whole host of things; Finn knows him and his limits too well.

“Tonight, princess, you are going to be gagged, so you will remember not to run your mouth. We’ll use the bells.” The older man sets the phone aside, next to the remote. “You're on the rack, which Sasha might have mentioned, since she helped me get it ready for you. You’re going to be secured to it, so you will remember to keep your hands to yourself until I give permission.” Finn stands, tilting the younger man’s chin up. “I know you love being spanked, princess, and I’ll give that to you, along with a good flogging and whipping, but you’re not going to come tonight.”

“But Sir-”

“You’ve forfeited your rights to orgasms, Tyler, the _second_ you laid hands and mouth on Seth after I told you to stop,” Finn says, almost sweetly. “And to make sure you really understand, you're not to touch yourself for the entire weekend. On Monday you will call me at noon and I'll see if you have learned your lesson. Then, if you've behaved well, I'll watch you jerk off.”

Tyler swallows nervously. It's always gratifying to put on a show for Finn, but Monday is a whole two days away, and it'll _kill_ Tyler not to be able to masturbate for the entire weekend after tonight, especially after having worn a plug all day and not being allowed to come tonight.

Unconcerned, the older man saunters away, and flicks on another set of lights. “Joe wants to watch what we do tonight, so this is our setup. Take a good look, princess. If you have a hard no to any of these, you tell me now.”

The rack is there, a simple rectangular black steel frame, with shackles for his wrists and ankles, and a rolling table laid out with the implements Finn is going to use. Those don’t worry Tyler much except for the metal cock cage that Finn’s brought out. It’s a custom one that Finn got for Tyler, and he only brings it out when he really wants to punish the socialite, but even that is secondary to the instinctual rejection when he sees two cameras on tripods, front and back of the rack.

He’s going to be recorded.

A tremor of remembered shame inches down Tyler's spine. He's been punished in front of an audience before, back in the days of the Club; paraded about on his hands and knees in nothing but a tiara, tied up, chained and gagged; been treated as nothing more than a pretty boy while Finn whipped him raw and tickled him till he cried, putting on a show for their appreciative audience. It had rebuilt Tyler’s decimated confidence then, strangely, that he was seen solely as a sex object and not as a story, not as a _victim_ . They’d watched, and they’d wanted _him_ , wanted to _be_ him. He’d earned his pet name of ‘ _princess’_ by being Finn’s best sub.

But he hasn't been recorded since that goddamn sex tape. He’s been so careful since, never sending explicit pictures to anyone except Daddy and Finn, and only after _years_ of being with them and starting from innocent pictures of his outfits of the day to topless post-workout shots to reciprocal scandalous photos for sexting...

He doesn’t know if he’s ready.

Finn is cupping his chin, looking into his eyes with concern. "Tyler, is that too much?"

"I trust you," Tyler whispers. His voice is ragged already; he can't imagine how he must appear to Finn for the dom to set aside the scene and check in. He takes a slow, deep breath, and turns his face to nuzzle Finn's palm. "I trust you, Sir."

Finn smiles and kisses his forehead. “On your feet, princess.” He slaps the crop on Tyler’s ass cheek and adds, “Take the plug out.”

The dom leads Tyler to the table, ordering him to examine each one and thank Finn for choosing it. Tyler puts on the cock cage, shivering when the cold metal touches his skin, and thanking the Irishman, who checks that it is secure. Then Finn guides him to the first camera.

“Darling, this is what’s going to happen,” Finn murmurs, his arms looped about Tyler’s waist and his clothed form pressing into Tyler from behind. “I know you’re nervous and scared, that this brings back bad memories.” He kisses the younger man on the back of his neck. “So what you are going to do is prove to me and Joe that you are stronger than all that. That what we want is more important to you than all that.”

“How do I-” The words lock up in Tyler’s throat. He licks his lips and tries again. “How do I do that, Sir?”

“You’re going to turn the cameras on. I have the SD cards here - 64GB - and you’re going to insert them, and turn the cameras on, before I secure you into the rack.” Finn kisses him on his right ear and nibbles lightly. “Can you do that, Tyler? Can you do that for me? For your Daddy Joe?”

The blond shivers, even though the room is warm. He nods, hesitantly, and takes the SD cards. The red recording light makes his pulse jump with apprehension, but he pushes that aside, and goes to the other camera. Then he steps to the rack and puts his hands where they should go.

Finn smiles and kisses him gently on the mouth. “Good boy. Now let’s see if you can learn a lesson on being better.”

***

Tyler’s lost track of time. He is trembling, his back, his ass and the backs of his thighs hot and stinging already; he feels he may have been locked into the rack for days, his shoulders are sore and his hands feel numb, although a distant thought tells him that it isn’t possible. The bells in his hand jingle faintly as he flexes his fingers. He can feel the discomfort of arousal denied; every now and again Finn rubs an ice cube against the slick steel of the cock cage, reminding Tyler of the existence of the chastity device. There’s nothing more important right now, anyway, other than the tickle of the tassel on the end of the signal whip that Finn is teasing over the curve of his pelvic bone, and the strikes that are about to land.

“I’m taking out your gag now, princess,” Finn says. Tyler blinks at him, his tears sticking his lashes together. His chin is wet with drool and his face damp with sweat and tears, and Finn is looking at him with such tenderness that Tyler almost cries again.

As the dom loosens the gag, Tyler rasps out, “Thank you Sir.”

“Now tell us what you did wrong last night at Joe’s.” Finn strokes his fingers over Tyler’s cheek, infinitely gentle, and then grips his jaw tightly. “Be _specific_ , princess, or I shall be very cross.”

Tyler gulps, and breathes out shakily. “Yes, Sir.”

“Begin.”

Tyler licks his lips and starts: “I should not h-have taken Seth downstairs to, to Daddy Joe’s office.”

A sharp smack lands on the left cheek of his ass and Tyler chokes down the gasp of pain. He likes the floggers more, the pain spread over a patch of skin so he gets deliciously warm, with pretty bruises blooming after; signal whips _burn_. “Why not?”

“I was... I’d already planned to seduce him, and I-I did.”

The next strike is on the right cheek, ending with a snap. Tyler can’t hold back the yelp this time. Finn clicks his tongue. “What did you want to do, Tyler?”

“I wanted... I wanted us to get off, together.”

“I was the one who told you about Seth’s request.” The third one lands near the first. “So why was it wrong for you to want to get off with Seth, princess, hmm?”

“Because-” Tyler can’t catch his breath; his eyes keep tearing up, because Finn sounds so disappointed _._ “Because, you said, you said-” He keeps stuttering, his teeth and tongue refusing to cooperate. Finn rubs a warm hand down Tyler’s spine, crooning something soft in Irish, and the blond manages to calm down a little. “Because you said- you said, not too far, and I went too far, I had him against the wall as soon as I could.”

“I’d hoped you could teach Seth how to be my sub, Tyler. You know better than anyone else what I enjoy in our sessions.” Finn sighs, shaking his head. “But the very first thing you’re teaching him is to disobey my wishes.”

A series of sharp cracks land on his back, down one side and then up the other. Tyler tries to hold back at first; by the fifth he’s sobbing, eyes and nose running, shallow gasps of breath. Finn is hitting harder than he has ever done, and Tyler _knows_ he deserves it, he should have behaved better last night.

“And then, princess, what did you do?” Finn asks, trailing the end of the whip handle over Tyler’s nipples. He sounds a little breathless himself. “What did you do when I told you and Seth to stop? After I separated you, and told you you had nearly gone too far?”

“I kissed him,” Tyler sobs; he can’t stop himself for anything, “I kissed him after. I-I kissed Seth.”

“Mm hmm. You kissed him.” Finn trails the whip’s tassel along Tyler’s spine. “If you’d behaved yourselves, I’d have had both of you that night. Seth on his knees beside you, you showing him how I like my cock sucked, have him lick my come out of your mouth. I might have had you taste him, Tyler, have you eat him out, open him up for me. Get him accustomed to being treasured.” Another blow, still on his back, and this one cuts across the other lines burning into his skin and flesh. “I expected better from you, princess. I really did.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the younger man babbles, trembling and weak-kneed.

Finn is unmoved. “And what else did you do wrong when we went upstairs for dinner, Tyler, when I told you to behave yourself for Joe? Did you behave yourself?”

Tyler’s whole face is a wet mess. He shakes his head, sniffling.

“No. No you didn’t.” Another five lashes of the whip on his ass, painful and stinging blows that shock Tyler into silence. Finn circles around to caress Tyler’s face, wipes away some of his tears. “You tried to embarrass Mustafa, with that _highly inappropriate_ question. You were lucky, Tyler, that Joe didn’t lose his temper right there and then, but he has every right to stop seeing you, do you understand?”

The sub nods, frantic. “M’ sorry. I’m sorry. Please, I don’t want Daddy angry with me, I don’t want him to stop seeing me.”

The older man sighs. “Twenty lashes, darling, from Joe, on top of what I’ve already done. You’ll count them for us, won’t you princess?”

“Yes, yes I will, Sir, I will.” Tyler gulps in air. As each blow of the whip lands on his back and ass, alternating sides, the blond sub counts aloud. Finn holds off each blow until Tyler counts the previous one. The blond sub is shaking in his restraints, the bells in his left hand jingling softly, but he never drops them, never utters his safeword. His skin is so hot that he thinks he’s burning up, but Finn places each strike precisely where Tyler isn’t numb yet, the pain layering on and on until it drowns out all other sensation and thought.

When he gets to twenty, Tyler almost crumbles, but he holds himself as still as he can. There’s always the last bit to go. Finn puts aside the whip and disappears for a moment, the sound of running water indicating where he’s gone. Tyler gathers his composure, though he can’t stop his teeth from chattering.

“What have you learned, princess?” Finn asks after he returns with an armful of soft towels, wiping his hands with the smallest one.

“I must... I must not run my mouth and be, not be rude.”

“Good. Second thing?”

“I mustn’t touch anyone without your permission.”

“Yes. A third thing, and we’ll wrap this up.”

 _A third thing? Is there a third thing?_ Tyler sniffs, mind already blanking out. “I must... ” He spies the red light of the camera - he’d forgotten about them entirely earlier -and a thought creeps in. “What you and Daddy Joe want... what you want is more important than... than the bad memories of-of that... Of that.”

“Excellent, Tyler, that was very good.” Finn turns off the cameras first, before he releases Tyler’s cock, then his ankles and wrists. Tyler bites his lower lip as Finn smooths back his hair, and tears are rolling freely down his now-puffy cheeks. “I want you to clean the toys, and if you do a good job, you will take the SD cards from the cameras and you'll hand them to Joe yourself.”

Nodding obediently, Tyler sits down with much care and cleans the different implements. As he goes through the routine, a familiar calm suffuses him and he can feel his pulse slow to an almost meditative lull; his arms and legs tingle from the release from the strain of the rack, and lassitude floods his limbs. His breathing slows and he can’t help smiling softly at Finn, who is watching him, and a tenderness lights up the dom’s blue eyes.

When he is done, Tyler gets to retrieve the SD cards, which he goes to put in the pocket of his jeans. Then he returns to the thin cushion in the center of the room and drops to his knees, waiting for more instructions. He thinks he can go another round of twenty, maybe thirty lashes. But Finn only wraps him up in a towel, scooping him up into a bridal carry to take him to the recovery corner of the dungeon. A basin of water is there, with a smaller towel draped over its side, as well as a small tub of cream that will help minimize scarring.

“My sweet princess.” Finn places Tyler on his front and strokes his blond hair. The younger man exhales with a soft purr, his eyelids growing heavy. “Rest, darling. I’ll take care of you now.”

And he does. Tyler drifts into a dreamless sleep, comforted by the gentle hands cleaning and soothing him.

***

As Tyler dozes, Finn checks his phone for updates. There was one, a link to an article in TMZ:

**_Celebrity Chef Rey Mysterio Mugged & Hospitalized_ **

The Irishman skims through the article and smiles to himself. Then he texts Joe: _‘g2g’_

 _‘Watch over the girls while I’m away,’_ Joe replies. _‘Can’t shake the feeling someone is scouting the bar.’_

_'n ur cop?’_

There is a short pause before the assassin responds. _‘I’ll deal with him when I return.’_

Finn snorts, knowing that Joe has no intention of following his advice. _‘ur funeral’_ he tells Joe, and puts his phone away. He hopes that Mustafa comes to his senses and finds someone better.

Perhaps he should encourage that.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Finn issues a dinner invitation, and Roman reveals an unpleasant truth.

“Mustafa!” Dana hisses from the printing room and motions vigorously for him to go to her. The young man obliges, sipping on the abominable break room coffee from his mug. (The mug is in the shape of a moose’s head and tacky as hell, but it was a souvenir from his sister Zenab when she went up north for college, and he will shoot anyone who tries to take it from him.) “Moose, who’s that devastatingly gorgeous man out front looking for you?”

Mustafa tilts his head to peer at the counter, confused. “What devasta- Oh.” It’s Finn, still in a crisp all-black suit, standing out like a Fabergé egg in a bowl of overcooked oatmeal. “That’s, um... He’s Joe’s friend.”

Dana’s eyes light up. “Is he single? Please tell me he’s single.”

“Sorry, Dana, he’s got a boyfriend,” Mustafa replies. He looks out again. This time Finn sees him looking and smiles at him; Mustafa has to admit to himself that he goes a little weak at the knees at the force of the smile. “I’m gonna go see what he wants.”

“Ugh.” The blonde rolls her eyes and stalks away. “Why are all the cute guys gay or taken?”

Leaving her to grumble, Mustafa sets his coffee down at his desk before he goes to talk to Finn. The Irishman brightens up even more. “Hello, Mustafa.”

“Hey,” Mustafa replies, feeling more out of sorts.

Finn scans him top to bottom, blatant in his admiration. He even walks a half-circle around the young police officer. “You look very handsome in your uniform.”

Cedric is walking past just as Finn is complimenting Mustafa and he raises a querying eyebrow at his best friend, who is too busy fighting down a blush to respond. Mustafa does smile at Finn, however.

“Thanks, but I doubt you’re here to talk fashion,” he says. “What’s up? Is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes, there is something,” says Finn. He glances around. “Can we talk outside? Being surrounded by so many uniformed cops is giving me the willies.”

Mustafa chuckles, a little uneasy. Almost everyone is surreptitiously checking Finn out, or staring outright; the sergeant is scowling. “I’ve no idea why you’d feel that but, uh, sure. Come on.”

Once they’re outside on the corner of the block, Finn says, “Joe’s off for a couple weeks and I know he’s not the sort to ask for help, but he mentioned that he thought someone’s scouting out the bar. Do you know who patrols that area?”

“Cedric and I do, when we’re on swing, but I’ll let Sarge know also and he’ll send the other shifts to be watchful of odd characters.” Mustafa wishes Joe had told him instead, but they _are_ very new, whereas Joe and Finn have known each other for ages. (It’s _not_ jealousy he feels. It’s _not._ ) “I’ll pop by whenever I can.”

“Good, good.” Finn looks him over again, head tilted and his red lips curved slightly. “You really do look _very_ dashing in your uniform.” His gaze flicks up and locks onto Mustafa’s, as if sensing the younger man’s resentment on knowing Joe so well. “Any chance I can take you out for dinner sometime this week or next?”

Somewhat taken aback by the offer, Mustafa shakes his head. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“I’m not asking you out on a date.” The flirtatious smile never leaves Finn’s face. “It’s only dinner, Mustafa. I’m Joe’s friend; it’s only right I keep an eye on you while he’s away.” He taps his lower lip with his index finger as he studies Mustafa, who wonders what clues he’s betraying. "I bet you have all kinds of questions about him. I am also rather curious why you'd want to be with Joe, too; the two of you are pretty much polar opposites."

Mustafa feels his cheeks grow warm, and he has to stop himself from fidgeting. “Thank you, really, for the offer,” he manages at last, though he is still rather flustered. “I’ll wait for Joe to come back before taking you up on it.” Then, in a fit of pique, he adds, "And I'm not that different from Joe. We share a lot in common."

"I apologise, that was rude of me." Finn sighs. “I guess a dinner at Kings will have to wait. Thank you for keeping a closer watch on Joe’s bar, by the way. If you want to reach me, just let Paige or Becky know.” He holds out a hand and Mustafa takes it to shake, but Finn instead lifts the cop’s hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the knuckles before he lets go. “Have a good weekend, Mustafa.”

“You have a good weekend, too,” Mustafa says, knowing that he’s blushing even more, his stomach fluttering anxiously, and flees into the safety of the building, his heart hammering. He can still feel the softness of Finn’s lips on the back of his fingers.

He's caught by Cedric as he sits down. His best friend raises an eyebrow. "So.... Who's the blue-eyed hunk that’s got Dana swooning?"

"He's Joe's friend." Mustafa fidgets with his pen and then puts it down, aware that he's nervous. _Why am I nervous?_

"Was he hitting on you? He looked like he was hitting on you."

"He has a boyfriend!"

"Same question," Cedric frowns at him. "Moose, you okay? You look... I dunno. Kind of shell-shocked."

Mustafa gives Cedric a tiny shrug, a little half-smile. For a moment, he thinks of telling him that he’s okay, and if it’s anyone else, he would, but this is _Cedric_. They tell each other practically everything. Mustafa lowers his voice. “I’m in trouble, Ced.”

Now genuinely concerned, the black man sits closer. "What's wrong? Is it the new captain?"

“What? Lashley? No, we’re beneath his notice at the moment, though Sarge seems to be having a bad time of it.” Mustafa and Cedric glance over at their sergeant who is on the phone and not paying attention to either of them chatting. (The new Captain Robert Lashley who has taken over from Captain Angle is known to be biased, but he has a good record of closing cases. Mustafa is wary of him and the detective he brought over, a Detective Rush, who swaggers about like _he_ is the captain instead. There are whispers of them bullying subordinates, but thus far everything is much the same as when Captain Angle steered the ship.) Turning away from their superior officer, Mustafa admits, “No, this is... it’s about Joe.”

“What about him?” A fierce look passes over Cedric’s face, his protectiveness surfacing. “He’s away, isn’t he? What the hell did he do?”

Mustafa breathes out a soft laugh. "Nothing. He hasn’t done anything - and yeah, he is. It’s just…” Cedric’s shoulders relax a bit, but he still looks concerned. “I know I promised you that I was gonna take it slow and not be too invested and..." Mustafa exhales and covers his mouth. "Ced, I think I've fallen for him for real.”

With a long sigh, Cedric sits back in his chair. It's not anger but resignation in his eyes when he regards his best friend. "Dammit, Stafa. This always happens." He doesn't say anything else, just sits in silence for a moment before he grips and shakes Mustafa's wrist, adding briskly, "Come on. We've got work."

Mustafa follows Cedric. Joe's away for two weeks. Maybe the intensity of his feelings will fade. (He can't decide if that is better or worse.)

***

Other than being upset that Dean won’t return his texts, Seth is also angry that his supposed _best friend_ is acting like an ass. Seth has tried to reach out, but he's not making any headway, and he is about to give up on the whole thing. Renee answers the phone calls, and sometimes it’s obvious she has the call on speaker. Dean’s presence is a silent, angry specter, and Seth wants to yell at him for being a complete jerk.

But Dean is also the one who used to protect Seth from the bullies, who took pictures of him and Roman after prom, who warned him and warned him and _warned him_ about Hunter. Dean was the one shut out of Seth’s life when the latter chose to follow Hunter, who _refused_ to listen to Dean, even though they’ve been best friends since they were kids, so Seth understands where Dean’s anger is coming from.

It doesn’t make the silent treatment any easier to bear, however.

Roman staying on in LA is a wonderful surprise though. Seth half-expected him to return to Florida where his mom lives. Instead, Roman has found an apartment in a decent part of town, about twenty minutes’ walk from Joe’s bar, except with more foot traffic and lots of great little eateries. It’s also only half an hour’s drive to where his ex and their daughter Seffy lives, so he can visit regularly, and Seffy can stay over whenever she wants or when Roman's ex has to travel for work. Seth is happy for him, and hopes to meet his daughter Sefina soon. He's only ever seen photos.

Saturday, Roman calls Seth to help him move some weights and equipment into his apartment. Once they have all the boxes into the apartment, Seth falls flat on his face onto the bed. Roman grabs him and hauls him out to the couch, fireman-style. “You’re sweaty and filthy, don’t dirty up my sheets.”

“Oh, like you’re not gonna dirty up those sheets with your own sweat and other fluids?” Seth teases. He’s shirtless, having lost the tank top sometime between moving the third set of plates and the rowing machine. Roman throws a towel on his belly. Seth snorts and sits up, only to be distracted when Roman pulls off his own shirt to reveal his beautifully muscled body (and the terrible scar snaking across his abdomen, the last reminder of that accident that derailed his career path). His tattooed right arm glistens and Seth can't help wanting to _touch._

Roman catches Seth staring. “Seriously? I feel so objectified.”

“Maybe if you grow a beer belly...” Seth offers weakly.

“You’re ridiculous.” Roman wanders off to take a shower. “No, before you ask, you can’t join me. Wait your turn.”

“Spoilsport!”

Seth’s crush on Roman has always been an open secret between them. Roman is just a couple of years older than Seth, and they met after Dean dropped out of high school. While Roman is okay with being used as a human pillow - Seth used to fall asleep snuggled up to the bigger guy back then, when they spent weekends just hanging out - he’s never wanted more than friendship. Seth hopes they can do the occasional snuggle again now that they’ve reconnected, but doesn’t hold out too much hope. Not everyone is like Tyler or Finn, willing to be clung to by an adult man.

It’s a little embarrassing how much he wants physical contact these days. Dr. Shelby has suggested that this may be a coping mechanism due to how Hunter used touch deprivation as a means of punishment, and Seth is trying to make up for the years of lack. At least Finn isn’t put off by his clinginess, and Tyler (when he’s available - he’s about to release an app based on him at the moment called _Fashion Files_ and starting his own line of something he's calling 'leisure glam', so he is really swamped with work) is always game for some cuddling. There is something reassuring about feeling the warmth of another person's body against his own. When Seth ventured to ask Aleister about it, the tattoo artist said touch is a primal source of comfort, and that had made sense to Seth.

The temperature of the shower doesn't go higher or lower than tepid, but at least he's not sweaty or sticky. By the time he's gone back to the living room, Roman's conjured up a large pizza out of nowhere and is picking out olives from one half and putting them all on the other half.

A small lump of emotion momentarily closes Seth's throat. He loves olives; he can’t believe Roman remembers that. “They can do different toppings for different halves now,” he says, when he feels like he can speak without choking.

“Yeah, I forgot,” says Roman with a wry grin. “Come on, dig in.”

They demolish the pizza in minutes, but there's still garlic bread and wings and cold beer, so Seth's comfortably full and relaxed when Roman says, “There is something I need to tell you about Finn.”

Seth freezes. The older man sounds serious. He sits back, his feet on the couch so he can hug his knees. “Do I have to listen?”

“I don't want you to find out by yourself.” Roman sits beside him but angles himself to face Seth. “You know I love you like my little brother. Always have. And I feel like I failed you when Hunter got his hands on you. Dean was the one trying to stop you and I didn’t take his concerns seriously; I should've stopped you from leaving, somehow. Maybe made a scene and embarrassed Hunter.”

“That... That wasn't your fault.”

“I should've done more.” Roman takes a deep breath. “So I didn't want to, you know, leave things to chance this time around. I did a bit of digging on Finn. To be honest, he pretty much dared me to look him up. The Playroom is all legal, but there's nothing on him.”

“What do you mean, he dared you to look him up?”

“That night-” Roman doesn't have to explain which night he meant “-after everything, Finn called me.”

“Yeah, I passed him my phone so he could get your number.”

“He didn't want Dean to meet with you, claimed that you've entrusted yourself to his care,” the bigger man says. “He insisted that I keep you and Dean apart. Then he gave me the name of the Playroom and said I was free to go look.”

Seth frowns. “I guess I understand why he told you all that. He hasn't stopped _me_ from calling or texting Dean though.” The younger man scowls more angrily. “Not that Dean is answering me anyway, fucking prick.”

Roman looks puzzled, then resigned. He licks his lips and takes one of Seth's hands. “Well, at least he doesn't stop you from doing something he disapproves of.” After a short pause, Roman adds, “I need you to brace yourself for something else I found out that you may not know, and I don't want you to find out by yourself.”

Seth feels a chill in his gut. “Ro. Stop.” _Stop means stop. That’s how it is supposed to be. Please stop. Please stop._

“I believe Finn is a criminal. He is a professional dom but that's not how he gets his money.” Roman grips Seth's hand. His tanned skin is warmer than Seth’s, or maybe the younger man is just cold with fear. Roman doesn’t seem to notice. “From what I could find out, Finn Balor used to run with some very dangerous people. He has connections to drug cartels and human trafficking rings, definitely to the different heads of the yakuza over in Japan. This information... None of it’s public. One of my bosses helped me find out what I could.”

“Stop,” Seth repeats. _Stop means stop. Stop, stop, please._ His insides feel like they’re made of ice. “Why are you telling me this?”

Roman is perplexed. “Because you should know what risks you’re in, being around him-”

“I _know_ he's not a saint. But why are you _telling_ me this?” Seth pulls his hand away from the other man and stands up, suddenly furious. He doesn't know if the anger is directed at Roman or himself or at Finn. “I know most of his money isn't from legit sources and I know he probably is involved in some shady shit, I was there when he threatened Hunter, I’m not _stupid,_ Ro, _but why are you telling me this?_ What do you want me to do?” His rage shocks even himself; it threatens to spill from his throat, like fire from a dragon. “Am I supposed to leave the man who saved me? The man who's been nothing but kind to me? Who fed me when I was hungry, comforted me when I was sad, held and reassured me when I was lonely and scared and had no idea how to live without Hunter? The man I kiss in the morning and whose bed I share at night?”

“Seth, I just-” Roman stares helplessly at him. “Seth, come on. You don't have to stay with him even if he's helped you.”

How is Seth supposed to explain this? That he can no longer picture a life never seeing Finn’s smile every day? Never holding the other man’s hand and exchanging a gentle caress of their thumbs? That he fell for him from the moment Finn called him sweetheart, that every day since he’s lived with Finn, he’s fallen more and more in love, that now he's too far gone and he does not want this to end?

“Did you even stop to think if I _want_ to stay with him?” Seth asks in a whisper, broken and lost. “You couldn't... You couldn't let me have a little bit more time pretending to be ignorant? You don't even know- you don't. You don't even know how he found out about me. The lengths he was prepared to go to save me. Finn never involved me in that side of his life, so _why_ are you telling me _this_?”

Roman stands up. He's only a little taller than Seth, but bigger in build, and Seth has to fight from cowering. “I don't want what happened with Hunter to happen again. Dean is right - the danger is too great. I don’t want him using you.”

Seth bites his upper lip. Then he nods. “Yeah, because me connecting with my friends and getting back to my studies and, and having an actual job, helping me to acclimatize to having real independence, me having the freedom to go anywhere I want at any time, all that suggests that he intends to isolate me from the world to use me at his own pleasure. Of course.” He grabs his phone and keys and heads for the door.

“Seth, come on, you know that's not what I meant.”

“No? _No?_ Because I think that you wanted me to see the worst in a good man who saw someone in need of help and offered it.” Seth glares at his friend. “He's still offering it. He could've had me do anything for him from the very first day he freed me from Hunter - and I mean _anything,_ Ro, I was so damaged that the mere thought of freedom _petrified_ me - and he's not taken advantage. Not once. Dean thinks I’m with Finn for his money? _Hunter has money._ Hunter has money, and power, and is the _worst kind of criminal,_ because he will never be punished for anything he’s done. And you think _Finn_ is like him?”

“Seth, that’s not-” Roman runs his hand over his hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Hunter took _everything_ from me. He made me frightened to even _think_ my own thoughts. Do you know how it feels to constantly monitor what you’re thinking, as if... as if  for some reason the person you fear can hear the voice in your head? And punish you for it?” Seth cut his own words off. Too much. There's too much going on. “Finn helped me find me, helped _rebuild me_. You don’t- You _can’t_ understand.”

Ignoring his friend, Seth storms out of the apartment and slams the door behind him. He should grab a cab or possibly an Uber, but he stalks down the street, avoiding the other pedestrians, furious and glowering, all the way down four blocks before the anger recedes a little.

Seth stuffs his hands in his pockets and slows down his pace, finally ducking into an alley to catch his breath. He knows Joe is an assassin, and Finn clearly is involved in that seedy world. There's nothing new in what Roman said. So why do his friend's words affect him so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PQ: finally i have WiFi. It's been a nightmarish week of packing & moving (you read that right - i had exactly ONE WEEK to do that) but here we are, bound for Pain City. Have fun.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Finn hurts.

Finn is done at the Playroom just before midnight. The Changs cancelled twenty minutes before their session because their three-year-old threw up on the babysitter, so Finn’s and Sasha's night is free. Sasha is in their office, relaxing, and Finn gives her shoulders a good rub. She looks up at him and smiles lazily. When she isn’t playing, she is a soft fluffy kitten. When they share a scene, she takes the lead, and he enjoys her inventiveness. He adores her to bits.

“So is that guy, what’s his name... McIntosh? He still interested in going pro?” Sasha asks, scrolling through her phone calendar.

“McIntyre, and yes. He’s got the look and the feel of a great dom,” says Finn, his thumbs stroking firmly along the sides of Sasha’s neck vertebrae. “But he’s a little wary about having to spend time as a sub. Think you can give him a few lessons?”

Sasha shrugs. “Sure, if I get a cut of his first five pro scenes.”

“Of course. The usual.” Finn kisses the top of her head and goes to his side of the room to flick through the appointment book. “You have a house call tomorrow... The boys are busy though.”

“Bayley’s free, she can drive me.”

“That’s settled then.” Finn smiles when he gets a text from Seth. “Alright. I’m leaving.”

“Say hi to Seth for me and tell him I want banana muffins.”

“He’s not your personal baker, Sasha,” Finn says, laughing as he pulls on his jacket and leaves the Playroom. Luke is swiping through his dating app while waiting in the car. Finn slides into the back seat and rolls his right shoulder gingerly. “Get me home, Luke. And book me a physio session for next Tuesday. My shoulder’s hurting again”

“Sure thing. Hey, check out this girl for me?” Luke hands the phone to Finn and starts the car.

“What happened with Lindsay?”

“Had a date. Didn’t click. She kept going on and on about Goop and Gwyneth Paltrow and I was so bored I nearly skipped out on the sex part of the night,” says Luke. “At least that wasn't so bad. Key word: _flexible._ Gotta get back in the dating pool again, and my game is rusty.”

Finn grins. “I didn’t know you ever _had_ game. You always used me as bait.”

“I consider that a perk of being your bodyguard,” Luke says. “Because your dental plan is crapski.”

“Medical insurance and transport are covered though,” Finn retorts. He’s glad that Luke is in a good mood. The separation was an ugly mess, but at least they don’t have any kids to be caught in the fray. The woman in the dating app looks like a friendly, sporty type, and her bio is funny. He helps Luke to start the chat, and she responds, so Finn helps Luke to flirt and set up a date.

The two of them talk shop for a bit - Joe’s gone dark to deal with EC3, who has landed about four days ago, and Luke is delivery man for Chef _Jeff Dickson_ . It’s a stupid name, to go with the stupid costume Joe’s adopted - Luke says that Joe looks like Guy Fieri’s Floridian cousin, without the hammy charm and casual warmth. Chef Mysterio who was originally hired to cook for EC3 is still in hospital from a _completely random_ mugging in an alleyway behind his kitchen; Karl is watching to make sure he doesn’t wake up too soon. Once Joe’s mission is complete, a gas embolism will wrap matters up nicely.

He can already see the headlines: ‘ _Celebrity Chef Rey Mysterio Dies from Medical Complications'_. Just the man’s luck to be a loose end. It’s all going smoothly and Finn can’t wait for Joe to return, so he and Joe can spoil Seth to _bits_. Finn can already picture it: Seth, tied up in bed, subject to their whims, Joe and Finn taking turns to play with his dark-haired angel, until he's crying and begging to come.

By the time he gets back to his apartment, he’s in the mood to play. He wonders if Seth is tired; the younger man went to help his friend Roman to move some exercise equipment before going in to work. It makes him a little suspicious, of course; Finn knows too little about Roman Reigns to read his intentions. Hopefully Seth will tell him later.

He finds Seth in the master bedroom, curled into one of the chairs with a book in his lap, but he’s staring out of the window pensively. His hair’s loose and fluffy, tucked behind his ears, and he looks so cute that Finn thinks he must have been a _saint_ in his past life to have Seth in this one.

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart,” Finn says, dropping a kiss on the crown of Seth’s head.

The young man glances up. doe eyes clear and steadfast. “What kind of criminal are you?”

Finn freezes. “What?”

“You wanted to know what I was thinking about,” Seth says. He’s calm, not confrontational. “I was wondering what kind of criminal you are, to be able to afford all of this.”

“I have to be a _criminal_ to be able to buy a penthouse here?” Finn repeats, astounded and offended. “ _Tyler’s_ not a criminal and he owns a house in Malibu with a private beach, his mansion in the hills, and a villa by Lake Como.”

Seth sighs and averts his gaze. His jaw is tense. “You’re being evasive. I’m not- I’m not trying to be difficult. I just... I need to know. You can’t expect this to be a relationship between equals if you know all my secrets and I know none of yours.” The young man runs his hand through his unruly mane and ties it at the nape of his neck in a messy bun. “You said it yourself. I can’t belong to you if I don’t know you or your past, but you hardly ever share anything about yourself. I like you, Finn, you know I like you a whole lot. And you _know_ that I trust you, but... I don’t know if _you_ trust _me._ ”

Finn feels anger brewing in his belly. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have introduced you to my friends or the people I work with. I wouldn’t let you live here and I sure as hell _don’t fuck people I don’t trust in my own bed_.”

“You let me live here because I had nowhere else to go,” Seth points out, utterly calm. “You took pity on me, and it _was_ pity, at first. I’m okay with that. I needed someone, and you took care of me, and I’m _grateful_ , Finn, I really am. I got to know you and Joe and everyone else because Joe took pity on an abused sub, and he entrusted me to your care. You’ve taken care of me and made me feel safe and I trust you, Finn. And I... Finn, I’m pretty fucking sure that I love you.”

 _I love you._ Finn stares at Seth, anger and longing locked in battle within. He’s heard those three words from too many people who only mean it in the heat of the moment, when they have no emotional defenses and when Finn is in total control.

He is not in control now.

“You-” He scrubs his face with the heels of his hands, trying to will himself to stay even-keeled. “You can’t just say that. You _can’t._ ”

“But I _do_. I love you.” Seth’s doe eyes glimmer with emotion. “I just want you to trust _me._ To show me the side of you that isn’t... that isn’t this facade of the perfect man _._ ” He stands and faces Finn, leaving the book in the chair. “This is your place. Your word is law, and stop means stop. Are you telling me to stop, Finn?”

The Irishman twists away, for the first time in years feeling like a coward. Seth has been nothing but honest and vulnerable to him, yet Finn can’t reciprocate. Too many ghosts and shadows and skeletons, too much death and suffering at his hands.

The young man takes one of Finn’s hands and squeezes lightly. “Just tell me the truth, please. You promised you wouldn’t lie to me. Not even to make me feel better.”

That was when Seth needed Finn to acknowledge the younger man’s painful truth. Here is another, and Finn wants to lie to him. He can still feel the rage simmering under his skin, and he knows Seth can see it, but the younger man is not trying to rile him.

“I can’t do this now,” Finn whispers. He stalks out and heads to the kitchen, where he grabs a bottle of whiskey, and pours himself a measure. _Fuck. Fuck, I should’ve prepared for this. I should’ve talked to Joe, figured out what to say._

Following him, Seth sits at the breakfast bar and waits patiently. Finn doesn’t turn around to acknowledge him; he finishes the measure, and pours another. Taking a deep breath, he braces both hands on the counter, head hanging low. “I guess Reigns did do some digging.”

“He’s concerned for me,” Seth says. Another pause. “Ro said a few things.”

“Did he find out that I have no footprint online?” Finn sips his drink. So that's what Reigns has been up to. “I had someone scrub everything about me. There are secrets that I hold that are too dangerous to share, but I can assure you: nothing I’ve done here in the States will implicate you.” He finally turns around, and finds it incredibly difficult to look Seth in the eyes. “Yes, I was a criminal. I no longer am. That’s all I can safely tell you.”

Seth clenches his fists, but his gaze is resolute. “What kind of people did you work with?”

“Very bad people.” Finn rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose. A headache is brewing, the sort that needs violence to assuage. Of all times for Joe to be away... “Please don’t ask me any more.” He feels his heart sinking, and he closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see Seth’s disappointment or disapproval. “I’m serious, Seth. If I tell you what I used to do, you’ll despise me, and I will put you in danger.”

“But you stopped doing whatever you used to do. Why? How?”

Finn smiles without humor. “I didn't choose to stop. I had to. I was about to help close a deal. There were people who decided that the easiest way to stop it was to kill me.”

Seth inhales sharply. “They... they tried to kill you?”

“They hired Joe to do it.” Finn’s smile grows sardonic and he rubs his right shoulder self-consciously. He remembers the burning pain of the knife, how dark Joe’s eyes had been when Finn tried to fight him off despite the injured shoulder, his blood slicking up his hand and the floor, then waking up in Joe’s hotel room, Luke tending to his wound, Karl with a gun aimed at the door in case anyone barged in. “Obviously, he didn’t, but he did keep me out of the way until the deal was called off. Everything fell through.” He shakes his head. “He made a counter deal with those who’d hired him. I had to retire or die.” He opens his eyes and studies Seth. “I took you in because of my debt to Joe. I wasn’t planning to... I was going to help you get back on your own feet, and then I’d part with you forever. No complications, no mess.”

“But you didn’t,” says Seth. He slides off the bar stool and walks around the island until he’s toe to toe with Finn. “You let me stay.”

“And you stayed.” Finn can’t explain the lump of emotion in his throat. He reaches up and brushes his knuckles over Seth’s right cheek. “I’m trying to put things right, I really am. The money I got from my dirtiest deals - I’ve funneled all of it into programs for good. What I have now, what I earn now, are from the Playroom and from investments, all legal and aboveboard.” He smiles, raw and uneasy from the little he’s revealed. “I promise, nothing I’ve done since we met will implicate you in _any_ crime. I've gone legit now.”

Seth takes Finn’s hand where it’s flat against his cheek and kisses the knuckles. He smiles and leans his forehead against Finn’s. “Thank you. For trying to make things right.”

Finn cups the other man’s face and draws him closer. “You said you love me.”

“I love you,” Seth says it again, fearlessly, _recklessly_. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Tears prickle at the Irishman's eyes. He smiles and kisses Seth with infinite tenderness. “I love you too. Seth Rollins, I love you so much, it’s terrifying.”

He has never once meant that sentiment as strongly as he does now. He said it to Sir when he was young, who only smiled and patted him on the head; he said it to Joe when Joe shot him in the shoulder and Finn thought he was going to die; he says it often to Tyler, who needs reassurance that he’s not a bother. But he is _in love with_ Seth, who came to him broken and terrified, now finding his feet despite everything that's happened to him, now asking - _demanding_ \- that Finn sees him as an equal.

Seth kisses him, then steps back. There’s a strange expression on Seth’s face, something like regret, and Finn is worried. The other man exhales and says, “I have to... I’m gonna stay with Roman for a while.”

“What?” It’s as if the floor has been taken out from under Finn. “Why?”

“I need... I need time and space to process all this,” says Seth quietly. His beautiful face crumbles into sorrow. “You said... You said there’s nothing you have done since you met me that would implicate me, but there _is._ I remember how you got me out from Hunter’s control, and I went back to look up information on the Broken Skulls. I _know_ , Finn, I wish I didn’t, but I do now, and it’s _hard_ to accept that my freedom came at such a high price.”

 _The Broken Skulls. Shit. Fuck. Shit._ Finn has forgotten about them, forgot that he was instrumental in bridging a link between them and Hunter’s company. His blood grows cold when he realizes what Seth has to have found out. “Seth, you misunderstand-”

Seth holds up a hand to keep Finn from stepping closer. “They're _human traffickers_. Finn, I can’t- My liberty, my happiness, all of _this_ that I enjoy - I don't deserve any of this. I don't.”

“Seth, the Broken Skulls and Hunter, what they do is not on me nor on you-”

“-but it _is_ , because _you_ facilitated it for _me._ Don’t you see?” Seth’s voice is thick and rough; he is trying not to cry. “I was hoping you’d come clean about that, or, or tell me that it’s not what I thought it is, I was waiting, and you didn't, and _I can’t stay.”_

Too late - Finn now sees the duffel bag Seth has set down by the kitchen island, sees that Seth has been waiting for him to be vulnerable, to show the worst of himself and trust that Seth won’t walk away. But he was too afraid, so Seth has to leave, he’s taking his things and leaving him-

Finn grabs Seth’s elbow. “Don’t go,” he whispers. It’s an order. It’s a plea. “Seth, it really isn’t what you think. I can explain. Hunter’s deal with the Broken Skulls - it’s not as bad as you think it is- They’re moving people across the borders, yes, but they’re not-”

Seth tugs his arm free. “You want to explain that you got Hunter a deal with _human traffickers_ and you think there is something _good_ in it that I can accept? No, Finn. No.”

“Seth, stay. Don’t leave.” Finn cannot believe this is happening. “Please, sweetheart, please don’t go.”

“I’m sorry. I think... I think I need some space and time without you. I love you. I really do. And I know you meant it when you said you’ve gone legit.” He brushes away a strand of hair falling into his tearful eyes. “But you still helped a very bad man do very bad things to do one good thing, Finn, and I need to think over my part in all of this.” He kisses Finn once more, the older man’s mouth slack with shock, and heads to the elevator.

A burst of possessive rage and fear explodes inside Finn. _No one_ has ever walked away from him; he’s always been the one to cut ties. He grabs Seth by his shoulders, fingers digging into bone, and whirls him around, drags him back; Seth struggles, but Finn is adamant. He shoves the younger man up against a wall with a loud thump, one forearm going across Seth's neck to pin him there, wanting nothing more than to force him to _listen_ -

“Penthouse!” Seth shouts, eyes wide and frightened.

The word is an ice-cold slap in the face. Immediately, Finn lets go, and takes a few steps back, chest heaving, a sick feeling crawling up the back of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I am so sorry. Seth, I didn’t mean to... I would _never-_ Sweetheart, please. I’m sorry.”

The younger man has his arms wrapped around himself, and he is visibly shaken. He takes many deep breaths - grounding exercises that Dr Shelby taught him - before the tension in his shoulders fades and he stops trembling.

Finn hates _everything_ about himself right at that moment, that he has done this to his Seth.

“You stopped.” Seth rubs at his right cheek, his face pale. “You stopped when I said... You stopped.”

“I’ve scared you.” Finn has done worse to other people, but this is _Seth_. For the first time in his life, Finn truly comprehends remorse. “God, sweetheart, darling, I _scared_ you.” He wipes his mouth; he's shaking inside. "I scared you."

“You have.”

“I’m sorry. Seth, sweetheart, I am so, so sorry.”

Seth takes a deep breath, then nods once, sharply. “I forgive you. I’m going now. I’ll call when... when I can figure out what to say, but you can always text me. Anytime. I’ll reply, I promise.”

Finn wants to beg him to stay, but he doesn’t. He has frightened Seth. He is no better than Hunter, using physical force on him... He feels sickened. As he watches Seth go into the elevator, Finn sinks against the wall behind him, trying - and failing - to understand what he's just done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PQ: Not sorry.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Tyler takes care of the man he loves and meets Roman.

_"I hate myself."_

"Welcome to Hollywood, darling, everyone here hates something about themselves. That's why we have so many therapists and plastic surgeons." Distracted, Tyler changes apps and flicks through the designs sent in for final approval. His manager, Drake Maverick, sends another email, this time with a whole series of social events the coming season for Tyler to decide which to attend. "But seriously, Sethie, what's wrong?"

Seth sounds drunk and miserable over the phone. _"I left Finn."_

"You _what?"_

 _"I - left - Finn,"_ Seth repeats, louder, slower, and there's some guy in the background telling Seth he should go to bed, that he's much too drunk to be making phone calls, and Seth calls him an asshole. Then he speaks into the phone again, words tripping over one another, interspersed with sobs, _"I love him, Ty, I love him so much, but I had to leave, and it's killing me that I had to."_

Tyler goes to his closet to grab a coat. "Where are you now?"

 _"I'm with my friend. Roman. He’s... here. In LA. I’m, um. Staying with him. It's his fault, telling me stuff. But it's Finn's fall. Fault. Too. He_ didn't _tell me stuff. And I hate myself for leaving but I had to and I already miss him and I hate myself and I love him and it’s all Roman’s fault-"_

"Alright, Sethie, pass the phone to this Roman guy, okay?" Tyler waits, until he hears a stranger's low voice on the other end of the line.

_"Roman here."_

It's a lovely voice, rich and mellow. Tyler wishes he has the time or the mood to appreciate it. "Can I trust you to take care of Seth?"

_"Of course."_

"Then send me your address and full name. And a selfie with Seth. Anything happens to him while he's at your place, any harm comes to him at all, and I will make sure you suffer a _horrifying_ end." Tyler takes a deep breath. "I don't understand what Sethie said about this being your fault, and he's too drunk to explain, but if you were the reason he and Finn broke up, I'm gonna kick your ass."

As Tyler's getting into his Lamborghini, he gets a notification on his phone. It's a name and address, and a picture follows that. Tyler saves it after a brief glance, and speeds all the way downtown.

The security at Finn's building (his name tag reads _Dallas_ ) tries to stop him, but a quick call to Finn soon sorts that out. Tyler finds the Irishman seated at his grand piano, shirt sleeves rolled up, his feet bare; he is playing scales slowly, and already most of the bottle of whiskey on the piano is empty. The entire room is _trashed:_ the TV is on the floor, the sofa is slashed up, and the coffee table broken up into firewood. Tyler looks to his left, and sees the floor around the kitchen is almost covered with shards of shattered dishes, and there’s a pool of dark red wine spread over the hardwood floor. Even the curtains have been ripped out of their tracks.

It’s frightening. Tyler has never seen his dom like this.

"He called you?" Finn asks. He doesn't sound as drunk as Seth did, but his Irish accent is thrice as strong as usual. "Did he tell you how I fucked up?"

"Sir," Tyler begins, and jumps back in shock when Finn hurls his tumbler at the floor. The glass shatters, joining the many glittering bits already scattered about, a galaxy of destruction.

Finn is breathing hard. "Don't call me that. Not tonight."

The younger man bites his lower lip. "I'm sorry. Finn. Can I... Let me come closer to you? Please?"

The Irishman shuts his eyes. Finally, he nods, a mere jerk of his head. Tyler approaches, careful to avoid the glass shards, and then sits beside the older man.

"I did what I had to, to save him. But he hates me for it." Finn's voice is soft. "What did I do wrong, princess?"

“I don’t know,” the blond whispers.

Finn inhales sharply and leans against the younger man. His voice is very quiet and his breath warm and whiskey-scented. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“I’m your princess, aren’t I?” Tyler answers in a murmur, smiling, though his heart aches for him.

The Irishman chuckles, pressing his damp forehead to Tyler’s cheek. The mirth fades into silent, shaking sobs, but he holds Tyler in place, not letting the blond see him cry. Finn’s reaction to Seth’s leaving is scaring Tyler, and he wishes Daddy Joe were here instead, because Daddy always knows what to do or say to make things right. But only Tyler is around, and Finn is hurting, and that makes Tyler hurt too. He hugs Finn, and controls himself when he feels tears welling up. Now, he has to be the one to keep it together.

When the older man appears to have regained some of his composure, Tyler asks timidly, “Do you... do you wanna come home with me?” He tries to mask his concern with a weak laugh, adding, “I love you lots, but not enough to pick up a broom or a vacuum cleaner or a mop to clean up this mess.”

Finn chuckles again, kissing Tyler on his cheek, and then again on his lips. His eyes are red-rimmed, but he is smiling a little. “Yeah. I can’t drive though, I’m definitely over the limit.”

“I drove here,” Tyler says.

“The baby blue Lambo?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Try not to get a speeding ticket this time,” Finn reminds him, and winced sharply when he stands. His bare feet are bleeding, leaving red smears when he moves. “Funny. I don’t remember... How did that happen?”

Tyler sits him down. “Let’s see to your feet first, and we’ll find you some sandals.”

“First aid is in the master bathroom. Seth has flip-flops in his closet.” Finn sounds quite stoic when he says it, but Tyler can hear the emotion behind all that. 

There are three pairs of flip-flops. Two drawers were left partially open, their contents dragged out. When Tyler comes back with the towel and the slippers, together with tweezers and disinfectant from the master bathroom, he gets to his knees and tends to Finn, picking out all the slivers of glass he can see. As he works, he starts tearing up, and bites back his sniffles. He hates seeing someone he loves in pain.

Finn strokes his hair, as if in a meditative trance. “I was gonna take him out to the beach, but we never quite found the opportunity. Bayley got him those flip-flops just in case.”

“When he’s back, we’ll go to my private one,” Tyler promises. Thankfully there aren’t too many glass shards impaling Finn’s soles. He wipes as much of the blood away as he can, disinfects the cuts, and then helps the older man get into a cheerful yellow pair of slippers.

Downstairs, they meet the security again. Finn waves aside his concern. “Bo, really, it’s okay. I’ll have Bayley come by and she’ll help arrange everything. If there’s urgent correspondence, call my office.”

“Yes, Mr Finn. I hope you’ll be better soon.” Bo Dallas holds the door open for them.

“Me too,” Finn replies.

Putting up the top of the car, Tyler drives them back to his home (and keeping to the speed limit). He tries not to think about Finn in a destructive rage, tries not to think about the bloody feet.

When they get in, Prince Pretty is waiting in the foyer, and the _instant_ the chihuahua sees it’s Finn, it starts barking and growling. Tyler sweeps his darling dog into his arms and coos, “It’s okay, Princey, it’s alright, Finn is just going to stay with us a few days while his feet recover, okay? You’re a good pup, yes you are, shush.”

The dog quietens with Tyler’s soothing, though it keeps glaring at Finn, who bares his teeth at it in a childish display. Tyler smiles, somewhat relieved. He doesn’t know how to cope with angry Finn; that is under Daddy’s purview. The dom hobbles his way to the guest room with Tyler’s help.

“You sure you don’t want a shower?” Tyler asks. “Or a bath?”

“I just need to sleep, gorgeous,” Finn assures him. “My head’s swimming and my feet are aching. I’d best stay off them until I’ve got a functioning brain.” He kisses the younger man, and murmurs, “You’re too good to me, princess. Too good for me.”

With a sweet smile, Tyler helps Finn undress and get into bed. As he heads out of the guest bedroom, Tyler gazes over his shoulder at the Irishman, and wishes with all his heart that Finn and Seth will make up. He loves them both, and he knows they are good for each other; what can he do to persuade Seth to come back to Finn?

***

“So you’re the new guy assigned to me,” Tyler says as he strides into his office on Monday, tapping away on his phone to send more feedback to the game designers. He has about three more meetings today, but he has to meet with his new personal security guy first (at his manager’s insistence - Drake is _such_ a bossy asshole, but he does do his job very well). There is so much to do and he wonders if he has the grit to really succeed, but for the first time in his life since he came out to his family, he feels like he has a purpose. His own fashion line _Breezey_ is going to be launched after his game _Fashion Files_ , and then he has to meet with the management team of the no-kill shelter where he adopted Prince Pretty, before a dinner with a couple of investors, to which Finn has promised to show up as his date so that the investors won’t get too touchy-feely. He hasn’t even glanced up from his screen. “What’s your name?”

“Roman Reigns.”

Tyler finally looks up from his phone and is taken aback. It _is_ the guy in the photo. “Roman?”

“That’s me.” The tall, muscular man stands at ease, his gaze cool and professional as he observes Tyler Breeze studying him.

In person, Roman is bigger than Tyler has expected, and much more handsome than the picture Seth showed him. His tanned skin gleams with good health, and his shiny hair is tied back in a neat bun. There is a sensuality in his features, especially around the wide mouth, despite his attempts to appear stern and forbidding. He doesn’t seem starstruck, which is good, but he also doesn’t appear to be friendly at all. And his  _arms_... Tyler is struck with a desire to see the man bare his arms, because if they fill out the plain black suit this well...

 _Right. Professional._ Tyler squints at him. “I didn’t have time to read your file in detail, but I remember it said you’d joined the Army or something? You’re very young to be a veteran though.”

“I was in training for the Marines, yes. I was disqualified because I got into a car accident and required extensive surgery, and that means I won’t be able to take the physical stresses of active service,” says Roman. “I got into private security after that.”

“Hmm.” Tyler disapproves of the military on principle. Killing for profit... well, Daddy Joe does it, though Tyler tries not to think about that, but killing on a large scale is somehow more _wrong._ And Daddy doesn’t leave behind people who suffer from PTSD and decimate entire families... he thinks. “Well, let’s hope you’re better than Jordan. He came highly recommended since his father is a police captain, but he was a disappointment. You’ll have to sign a few legal documents, in particular the NDA; my lawyer Ivory will walk you through it.” He sees the twenty-two notifications on his phone and sighs. “Alright, that’s all. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at five - I have a photoshoot and an interview, so Chad will drive and you will stay with me. The lighter suit, white shirt, no tie, no guns. Quiet shoes.”

“Yes, sir.” Roman turns to leave.

“Wait.” Tyler asks when the other man is at the door, in case he has made a mistake. He hesitates, and asks, “How’s Seth?”

“He’s fine, thank you.”

 _Discreet man._ Tyler approves. He doesn’t dare ask Finn for more details, and Seth is insisting that he’s fine, despite that distraught late night phone call two nights ago. He loves Finn, and he has always known that the Irishman is a criminal. Was. Finn's walked away from that life now. Tyler doesn’t want to connect the image of the Finn he knows with the Finn that puts others in harm’s way for money; the socialite is excellent at compartmentalizing when it comes to things he rather not deal with. He clears his throat and says, “Take care of him while he’s staying with you, please. And tell him he can visit me whenever he wants.”

For the first time in the meeting, Roman betrays an emotion. He looks surprised. “I will. I’ll pass your message on to him.”

***

 _So that is Tyler Breeze._ Roman reads the agreement conscientiously, while Breeze’s lawyer waits for him to be done. The older woman radiates impatience, which is why Roman is taking his time to scrutinize every line. It all appears quite aboveboard, so he signs the document and hands it over. She snatches it from his hands with a curt ‘ _Thank you’_ and struts off, her sensible heels clacking on the marble tile.

Roman looks around. His other colleague, Ember Moon, nods at him from where she’s standing. She’s short for a bodyguard, but she’s one of E&C’s best hand-to-hand combatants and top sharpshooters. He’s supposed to familiarize himself with the grounds and the mansion. According to the contract, he will be staying here four nights out of seven, once he clears the probation period of three months. His reporting officer at the agency was quite blunt about Breeze being very particular and difficult, keeping odd hours and visiting places that are “questionable”, in Edge's own words. Roman won't be taking it easy on the night shift.

It's a nice place, far too big for just a man and his dog. The security system is top of the line. Breeze has full-time security staff who stay in the annex (the four assigned to Breeze are on rotating shifts; Roman and Ember have the same shifts for now), all of whom have been vetted by E&C Security. If Roman meets Breeze's expectations, he'll be on track to lead security detail for the man's public appearances and be responsible for his daily protection. At least Breeze pays handsomely for round-the-clock protection. Some so-called celebrities haggle every last cent of overtime. At first, Roman didn't think Breeze really needs heavy security, until Christian gave him a dossier on Breeze and his background.

_Holy shit. Look at that net worth. And that's just counting the money he makes by himself._

According to the dossier, Breeze had someone deal with the asshole who released the sex tape a few years ago - by way of putting him in the hospital. Roman is surprised that the guy didn't sue, but he supposes the guy wouldn't get much sympathy in the first place. Breeze hired E&C Security not long after on the recommendation of one of his fellow socialites, but there is a special note by Christian for Roman not to comment on any part of Breeze's personal life to anyone. For all that E&C are among the best in the personal security business, they still can’t identify who Breeze had sent.

Roman thinks about Finn Balor. It’s good that Seth’s left the Irishman to his criminal connections and shady deals, and is living the life of a regular guy now.

It has to be good. (Roman tries not to picture Seth’s pale face, his withdrawn responses, his smiles that do not reach his eyes when he greets Roman in the morning.)

As he’s about to go to Ember, he spies a familiar figure talking to Breeze. It’s _Finn_ , wearing only black shorts. Tyler Breeze smiles and leans in to kiss the Irishman, who returns the kiss.

“Hey, new guy,” Ember hisses at him. “Don’t stare. Tyler and Mr Armani have a thing for years now, and we’ve been given orders not to ever, _ever_ talk about him or try to find out who he is.”

“Mr Armani? That's not his name,” says Roman.

“Okay, seriously, don’t tell me, because I kinda love this job. Tyler Breeze is one of the nicest guys on our client list and he gives great bonuses.”

As Ember looks away, Finn turns, and he notices Roman. Roman half-expects the Irishman to storm up to him, and half-expects the guy to pull Breeze in to make out even more, but Finn only limps towards the tall Samoan. Ember excuses herself and disappears from view.

When Finn gets closer, Roman sees the bandaged feet. The Irishman shrugs. “I stepped in some glass.”

“Oh.” Roman braces himself for angry accusations of sabotage. Not that Finn would be wrong to berate him, but the older man  _did_ tell Roman to look him up.

Finn takes a deep breath. “Is he okay? Tyler... Tyler told me Seth got really drunk that night. and he sounded upset, I mean, I know he was upset, a-and I, uh, I was worried.”

 _Oh._ Roman is surprised, and surprised at his own surprise. He knows that Finn really does care for Seth, after all. “He’s okay. He is interviewing today, actually. An office job at an architect’s firm.”

“Well good, great, that’s good,” Finn says. He licks his lips. “Um. Just... if he wants to get anything from the penthouse, I won’t- I mean, I’m not going to be there for this coming week, so he can go anytime he wants, and, uh, if he does go, tell him not to worry about... not to worry about anything he sees. I had a, um. Little tantrum. After the... after we talked.” Scrubbing the back of his head, Finn adds, quietly, “Just... do me a favor? Make sure you smile at him every day? He, uh... he needs that bit of reassurance that he’s not, um, not alone.” A pause. “Seth feels loneliness a lot more acutely than most people.”

Roman lifts an eyebrow. “Oh...kay. Sure. Yeah, I can do that.”

The Irishman appears to want to say something else, but just smiles weakly at Roman, and hobbles off once more, in the direction of the guest rooms. Roman has no idea what to make of all that, and wonders if Seth knows about the relationship between Finn and Tyler Breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome aboard the good ship TyRo. We hope you enjoy the voyage.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where someone is out to make trouble, and Mustafa relieves stress the old-fashioned way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PQ: i apologize in advance for the slurs used.

Mustafa takes a video with his phone while Cedric peers up and down the block, whistling, pretending to be bored. With Joe out of town, Cedric is in a much better mood. They’ve hardly ever encountered trouble in this particular street where Joe’s bar is, other than that one incident with the mug-throwing guy, but it’s still considered a shadier side of town. Mustafa intends to go over the video later - the fifth he’s taken since Joe flew off to South Korea - and see if there’s any recurring characters.

“How long is your man gone for?” Cedric asks as they return to their car and resume patrol. The sweet smell of pancakes fills the inside of the car; they’ve just demolished half a dozen pancake treats each. (These are the New Day Cafe’s tiny palm-sized pancakes with different flavors. Mustafa ordered blueberry and Cedric had white chocolate and walnut crunch.)

Mustafa can't hide the smirk at Cedric's reluctant acceptance of his relationship. “Couple weeks, perhaps longer. He’s in South Korea, checking out their beer. It must be fun, traveling halfway round the world to sample drinks, but it does make it hard for us to chat. He’s sent a photo of him eating a live octopus and it was _gross._ ” 

“Gross enough that you’ll stop kissing him?”

“You _wish._ No. I'm gonna stick my tongue in his mouth the second he gets back.”

"Maybe the octopus will grab your tongue from inside his throat. Give a whole new meaning to deep throating." He grins and waggles his eyebrows. "If that happens, record it and pop it on social media. Bet it goes viral."

"You are literally twelve years old." Mustafa thumbs through his notepad. “Sarge tapped us for another school assembly talk. It’s your turn this time.”

Cedric groans. “You know I hate doing school talks. It’s your fault, you know, with your sunny smile and friendly demeanor. They think you’re approachable and non-threatening.”

Mustafa is indignant. “Non-threatening? I can throw down with you right now!”

His best friend is about to speak when they hear dispatch asking for backup two blocks down. They’re the closest, and Cedric puts on the siren. Mustafa notes down to the description of the robber (“about five feet seven, East Asian, gray baseball cap, navy jacket, faded blue jeans, just robbed a pawnshop at knifepoint”) and scans the sidewalks as Cedric drives.

“There he is!” he shouts. The guy, seeing the flashing lights, immediately dashes into a narrow alleyway. Cedric brings the car to a screeching halt and they burst out of the vehicle, giving chase. Mustafa updates dispatch as the two cops sprint together, side by side, following the panicking robber.

Cedric motions to the left and Mustafa immediately breaks off, going down the alley to the left to circle around the block. He almost crashes into some pedestrians, one of whom letting loose a volley of curses in Spanish, which is when he sees the suspect dashing his way, Cedric hot on his heels. To maintain the element of surprise, Mustafa keeps close to the curb, out of the direct line of sight of the fleeing suspect and charges towards him at the last possible moment. The guy notices Mustafa only a split second before Cedric tackles him from behind and quickly secures his hands behind him.

Mustafa, panting, raises an eyebrow. “Well done, partner.” He reads the suspect his rights, and radios in.

“Yeah? Wait till you hear what we’re gonna have to do. He tossed the knife in one of the dumpsters in the alley.” Cedric gets back to his feet and hauls the guy up, none-too-gently.

“Ugh. Really? Dumpster diving is the _worst_. You couldn’t just hang on to your knife?” Mustafa asks sarcastically.

The suspect bares his teeth at them. His left canine is capped in silver. “Fuck off, jackass.”

They are intercepted by Detective Lio Rush. The slim man stares at Cedric and Mustafa, as if smelling something unpleasant, and then asks, “You called it in?”

“Yessir,” says Cedric. “Actually, Mustafa did. I tackled him.”

“So you did all the running and the dangerous shit,” Rush says. Something about the way he said it annoys Mustafa, but he knows better than to mouth off to Rush in front of a suspect. The detective looks at the guy and snorts. “Anyway, take him in and book him for attempted robbery.” He sneers at the suspect. “Think you can pawn off that necklace you stole, pal? You’re going down.”

Mustafa clears his throat. “Detective, Cedric saw him throw a knife into one of the dumpsters in the alleyway. Do you want him to point out which one?”

“Your job - both of you - is to book him.” Rush strolls off, hands in his pockets, heading into the alleyway. “I’ll wait for the nerds. Put that fella in lockup.”

Cedric and Mustafa trade a glance. If that knife turns out to be important... Cedric shakes his head. “Rush outranks us.”

Mustafa chews on his lower lip. “Yeah, alright.” Nevertheless, as they push the suspect towards their car, Mustafa can’t help feeling like they are doing something wrong.

***

“Here you are. Captain Lashley wants you and Ced in his office,” Titus says, looking very serious. 

Mustafa closes his locker. “Why? Our shift’s over.”

“Yeah, I gotta head home. Mama wants me to go with her to LAX at six in the morning to pick her friend up.” Cedric pulls on his jacket.

Titus peers around, even checking the other lockers to make sure no one is lurking. “I overheard Rush claiming you guys misplaced evidence or something. Rush is in the office with the captain - you guys be careful now.”

“What?” Outraged, Cedric seems ready to punch something. 

Mustafa slaps him on the back lightly in warning. “Thanks for the heads up, Titus. We’ll go to the captain’s office now.”

As they go up the stairs, Cedric hisses, “We brought the guy back and booked him as Rush told us to, the hell is he talking about?”

“Maybe Titus heard wrong,” says Mustafa.

Captain Lashley is poring over a report when Cedric knocks, and they are told to wait. Rush is indeed there, seated, with a bland and innocent expression, but something about him gets Mustafa’s hackles up. 

 _He's too smug,_ Mustafa thinks.  _He's not worried about misplaced evidence at all._

“Come in and shut the door,” Lashley says. He’s an imposing man; he used to be a boxer, apparently, and is still ripped. When he leans back, the chair creaks. His beady eyes stare at Cedric, then Mustafa, and then he folds his arms. “The suspect you guys brought in, he used a gun in the robbery. Where is it, Alexander?”

“We didn’t see a gun in his hands,” Cedric says. “The guy had a knife and he tossed it into one of the dumpsters as I was chasing him. I told Detective Rush that already.”

Lashley tilts his head back to regard Cedric. “Lio says otherwise.”

“Captain, dispatch didn’t say anything about a gun,” Mustafa says.

“I didn’t ask you,” the captain responds, not looking at him. “You weren’t the one in pursuit, Alexander was.”

“And I’m tellin’ you, he didn’t have a gun,” Cedric repeats. Annoyance colors his words. “He had a _knife_ , and he tossed it into a dumpster. I offered to show Detective Rush where it was, and he told us both to come back with the suspect and book him.”

Lio Rush snorts. “And I _bet_ Ali will back you up on that.”

“Because that is the _truth_ ,” Mustafa retorts, now angered. “There was no gun.”

“Then why did the pawn shop owner claim he had one?” Rush asks, all faux politeness. He pushes himself out of the chair and faces the two uniformed officers. “You two dopes have to learn to identify weapons properly. Mistakin’ a gun for a knife, what the fuck. Sir, I’ll go sort it out, no fear.”

Lashley nods. “You may go, Rush. Alexander, Ali, you two are on desk duty for the next week. I'll tell Phoenix and Slater to use Brooke and Crews for assistance instead.”

Mustafa can't believe this nonsense. Angle would have cross-checked with the pawn shop, the suspect, dispatch, and even drive down to check for himself. “Why? Sir, you’re benching us both simply because Rush claims there was a gun? Just play back the recording from Dispatch.”

“Are you telling me how to do my job, Ali?”

“No, but sir, you’ve not even ordered an investigation into-”

“Protest further and I will suspend you without pay,” Lashley snaps. “Your shift is over, isn’t it? Dismissed, both of you.”

When Mustafa is about to say more, Cedric grabs his elbow and pulls, hard. Mustafa glances at his best friend and exhales forcefully. Instead, they turn on their heels and leave. Cedric is seething from the injustice, though he's hiding it very well. If Mustafa hasn't known him since they were children, he'd have thought Ced is perfectly calm. He can't imagine what his own expression is like. Being gay and Muslim has given him great control over what he shows on his face, and he isn't one to let others see when he's upset.

“Rush is out to get us,” Cedric murmurs under his breath. “Nese, from the captain’s old posting, said that Rush liked to get rid of the younger men, make sure he hasn’t any competition.”

“But we’re beat cops, we don’t pose a threat,” Mustafa argues.

HIs best friend scoffs. “We’ve both indicated we want to make detective, and the others have been roping us into their investigations-” He snaps his mouth shut as they get to the stairs.

Lio Rush is there, leaning over the banister, sipping on a can of Dr Pepper. As Mustafa walks down, trailing behind Cedric, he hears Rush mutter “fucking sand nigga fag”. Stunned by the vitriol, Mustafa looks up and meets Rush’s gaze directly. The detective smirks and walks away, entirely nonchalant.

Mustafa feels indignation and anger creep down his spine. Cedric isn’t Rush’s target - he is.

***

When he gets home, Mustafa sends a text to Joe, asking if he’s free to talk. By the time he’s out of the shower, Joe has replied. _‘Sorry. I have to visit a brewery. My interpreter is a jerk.’_ A second message adds, _‘Unless it’s something really important?’_

Mustafa sighs and plops down on the bed. _‘not rlly. just a bad day is all’_ , he texts, and then winces. Is he being too clingy? He’s never been like this with the other guys he’s gone out with, but then again, he never really connected with them the way he has connected with Joe. Maybe it’s the sex? Joe encourages Mustafa to indulge in his fantasies, and it’s _liberating._ After many years hiding who he is and then hiding what he likes, he has never found it easier than he does now to just be himself.

But being himself seems to have drawn Lio Rush’s loathing. The way Rush muttered the slurs, the way the captain wouldn’t even listen to him or Cedric... He can feel the stress gathering in his shoulders and behind his eyeballs. No, he doesn’t want to think about them. He’ll much rather think about Joe. Time for the most direct means of stress relief then, if Joe isn’t available for a chat. 

Fishing in his drawer for his trusty dildo and his lube, Mustafa grabs them and then turns down the light. It’s a matter of minutes for him to slick his fingers up, sliding them into himself. He’s always been flexible, and getting off this way is always more satisfying than jerking off. Once he feels more relaxed, he lubes up his dildo and pushes it into himself, sighing with pleasure as the familiar girth stretches him open.

He wishes Joe was here, though, even if the other man isn’t fucking him. He thinks Joe may like this - using a toy on Mustafa, watching him fall apart. Grabbing his phone, he turns on the voice recording function in his messaging app.

“Hey, Daddy. Since you’re not here with me, I thought I’d prep a gift for you,” he whispers. He hopes he won’t get too loud; the glares he got from his neighbor Daivari after the first time Joe stayed overnight were mortifying enough for the young cop. “I can’t wait for you to come home, Daddy, I’m so hard right now, thinking about being bent over your desk, getting fucked by you. Can’t - can’t stop stroking myself, the way you do it, tighter grip than I would usually... Daddy, Joe, when you come back, we gotta go shopping, I need a new dildo, one your size, remind myself how it feels when you open me up, have you call me your good boy...”

He fists his cock steadily, reminding himself to keep narrating what he’s picturing; it feels unnatural at first, and then it becomes easier as he loses himself to the fantasy. He describes in breathy gasps how it feels to be fingering himself when he really wants Joe’s thicker fingers breaching him (“Feels better when you do it, when you push in deeper, and when you curl your fingers and just - oh - Daddy, I want you to put your whole fuckin’ _hand_ in me, I don’t care, spread me wide open”), how much he craves to be fucked into unconsciousness (“over the kitchen sink, or over your fuckin’ office desk like that time, with the handcuffs, or against the wall, heaven help me, I’m gonna fucking climb you when you get back, I’m gonna take leave from work and you’re gonna shut the bar for a _week_ , I miss your cock, I miss sucking you off, the weight of - oh _fuck_ \- of your cock in my mouth, I want you to fuck my _face_ until I black out... _”_ ).

As he’s talking, he thrusts the dildo into his ass; he’s twisting around to get it in at the angle he loves most, utterly lost to his little world of pleasure. The words spill out of him, quiet and reverent and _yearning_ , he wants so much for Joe to be there right then. He’s never felt such a bone-deep desire for any other man, for all that he has dated other men; Joe understands what Mustafa wants, he _gets_ it. Joe gets how Mustafa sometimes just wants to be taken care of, after having to take care of other people in his line of work; how Mustafa wants to be able to shut off the part of his brain that is about making decisions, that assesses constantly, that has to keep determining what to do next, that has to be the cool, rational person in any situation.

With Joe, Mustafa doesn’t have to do any thinking. He just has to react, he just has to obey, he just has to listen to Daddy and he’ll be alright. And it’s Joe’s voice he imagines now, telling him to _go faster, go harder, you’re beautiful, you’re perfect,_ but then a flash of brilliant blue eyes and a charming smile crosses his mind, an Irish voice complimenting him, he can _feel_ soft lips on the back of his knuckles, and he comes, clenching down hard on his toy, his cry barely stifled by his pillow.

As his brain comes back online, Mustafa wipes off his hand on his sheets and stops the recording with shaky fingers. He shares it with Joe and flops back on the pillow, feeling completely boneless.

 _And what the hell was that with Finn?_ His cheeks grow warmer and he groans. Somewhere, he reasons, his wires must have crossed when he was talking about Joe and Finn came on to him. That has to be the only reason why he wants to feel those soft lips and scrub his fingers through that beard... He groans again, guilty and annoyed at himself. _No! No, bad Mustafa. Down, boy. You have Joe._

His phone chimes and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Fumbling a little, he unlocks it to see that Joe’s sent him a photo of himself, looking angry. (Mustafa just thinks the other man looks extremely sexy with that intense glare. Then again, he thinks Joe is sexy whatever he does.)

 _‘You’re being very naughty,’_ Joe says in his message. _‘Sending me a voice recording of you getting off? I was in a cab and the interpreter caught the start of it. I’m gonna spank you when I get back. Consider this an IOU.’_

Mustafa can’t help smiling. He takes a selfie, pretending to be contrite, and sends it to Joe, captioning it _‘sorry Daddy’_. It’s silly and harmless, just flirty fun, exactly what Mustafa has craved for so long without ever knowing what he wanted. Joe hasn't said anything about this being a serious commitment; Mustafa doesn't want to bring it up. He wants to keep this going, keep his heart from investing in this lighthearted fling. Enjoy the flirting and the sexting, learn something new about himself and kink, have lots of great sex...

So why is he feeling guilty about Finn popping up in his thoughts earlier?


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with a reconciliation and a murder.

Dean openly scoffs when Roman meets him for dinner on Wednesday and tells him about his new client (in very vague terms - non-disclosure agreements are tough). “Hollywood is crazy, man. You sure you wanna work here?”

“I’m close to my baby girl this way.” Roman taps his fingers on the table. “Seth's staying with me now, and he has that new project on top of the part-time thing at the convenience store, so at least rent’s covered.”

“I’m just glad you got him away from that Finn guy.”

“He left Finn on his own,” Roman clarifies. Seth is already at work, which is why Roman is meeting Dean for dinner in the first place. “I gave him some information about Finn and he decided to leave.” He chews on the plastic straw thoughtfully. “I don't know if I did the right thing though. He's real quiet and withdrawn. I mean, when he thinks I’m not looking, he looks...” Roman mulls over his words. “He looks lonely, I guess.”

“He'll get over it.” Dean clenches his fist, his knee bouncing under the table. There's always a restlessness under his skin and nothing Roman or Renee do can get him to calm the hell down when he’s like this. “It's fucking frustrating, knowing he was in that kinda destructive relationship and he kept it from us.”

Roman frowns. “I don't think that Finn dude was bad for him.”

“Not that Irish guy. I mean Hunter. Fucking bastard needs to pay for what he did to Seth.” Dean pounds the table lightly, but the look in his eyes is anything but gentle.

Roman privately agrees, but there is nothing they can do. Everyday guys like them can't even hope to _touch_ the McMahon-Helmsley organization. It's vindictive fun to fantasize beating up Hunter for what he did to Seth, but impossible in real life without severe repercussions; if it were just Roman himself, then he might still go for it, but he’s got responsibilities now. Roman feels a little guilty over what he dug up on Finn Balor using E&C’s resources, since the Irishman did save Seth when neither he nor Dean could; he hopes he's done the right thing.

Dean chews on his plastic straw. “You have the address of Seth's workplace? I'll pop over and say hi.”

“Throw in an apology too, you jerk. What you said was uncalled for.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Renee's already given me the third degree.” Dean looks uncomfortable and tense, which means he _does_ feel bad for what he said, and Roman knows that means the other guy will not be able to sleep well till he says sorry to Seth in person. That is Dean all over, of course: quick to anger, quick to forgive, and ready to fight at the drop of a hat, but he doesn’t know how to lie worth a damn. And when he thinks he’s in the wrong, he’ll go through hell and high water to make amends, once he gets past his own ego.

Roman finishes his taco. “She’s a good one, Renee. When are you making an honest woman out of her?”

“Next year. We’re gonna get married in April.” He grins at Roman’s delighted surprise. “She set the date.”

“Smart woman. You lucky bastard.”

“That’s me all right.” He fidgets, then adds, "She's got a new job offer to lead a PR team."

Roman is delighted. "You should've brought her along then! We could have celebrated."

"Yeah, well, there's a reason I'm meeting you alone." The other man hesitates, then explains, "Her new job is in San Francisco. We're gonna have to move north. Then, if it works out, she’ll transfer to their New York office."

Roman sits back in his chair. For the longest time, they've all lived within an hour of each other, ever since Roman and his parents moved away from Upolu for him to have a better chance of a football scholarship. The last five years, when Seth was with Hunter, Dean and Roman were next door neighbors; Roman could always pop over for dinner and a beer after work, and Dean and Renee were always happy to play with Seffy. 

"Wow. New York." Roman chews on the inside of his cheek. "That's far."

"Yeah, I know," says Dean. "I'm gonna have to tell Seth too. Renee feels bad, though. She thinks I should stay here, help Seth out."

From Dean's impassive tone, Roman can tell the younger guy doesn't want to leave, but there is no way he's not going with his fiancée. He reaches across the table and grasps Dean’s forearm, shakes it lightly. “I’m not gonna leave him to struggle alone.”

“You have your daughter to worry about.”

“Seffy’s okay. She’s got her mom and her stepdad and me. And Seth’s not incapable of taking care of himself, Dean. He’ll be fine.”

Dean sigh and drains his beer. “Yeah.” He smiles at Roman. “You’ll call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Of course.” Roman finishes his meal. 

***

Bayley leans on the counter, mouth pursed in sympathy. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Seth says. “Don’t tell him, please? I don’t want him to worry.”

“But you’re otherwise okay? Because Sasha and I have a spare room,” Bayley offers quietly. “You look terrible, Seth.”

Seth sighs. “I just have to make sure I'm exhausted before bed. Roman's got weight equipment so I can lift weights till I have no energy left.”

“That is not ideal.”

The young man shrugs. “I can manage, Bayley. You don’t have to worry about me.” He bites his lower lip. “Is he okay?”

Bayley tilts her head. “Sasha says he’s moping, but he isn’t... doing worse. I mean, it’s unlikely he’ll trash the apartment again. I've got people in to redo it.” She glances around, though there is no one else in the store. “Are you sure you don't wanna go back to the penthouse?”

“I need... I gotta do this for me.” Seth smiles wanly at her disbelieving expression. “Honest. I’ll be okay, I just need to adjust to living at Roman’s.”

Reaching over the counter, Bayley hugs Seth, saying, “Call or text me if you need anything, okay? I’m gonna check in on you next Tuesday, we’ll have lunch at Little Tokyo.”

Seth hugs Bayley back. She sighs softly and takes the credit card he passes to her. As she is about to exit, the door opens and Dean walks in. He keeps the door open for Bayley, and then sticks his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to the cash register. He doesn’t make eye contact with Seth; if it were anyone else, they’d look like they’re about to rob the store.

“What do you want now?” Seth asks curtly.

“I came to apologize.” Dean shifts from foot to foot, not looking at Seth. 

Seth snorts and leaves the counter, rudely shouldering Dean aside. “Save it for someone who still gives a shit.”

“You fuckin’-” Dean trails after him and grabs his elbow. “Listen, I said some stupid shit and I admit that and I-”

“You said it because you thought it,” Seth snaps, whirling around to jab Dean in the chest. “You thought I deserved to be raped for leaving you guys, for my dumb decisions. Newsflash, Dean - I was raped because they were _rapists_.” It must be the fatigue or maybe all the resentment and anger, he doesn't know and doesn't care - he can’t stop himself from talking. “You said that because you think it’s some kind of karma, or, or some moral failing that led to me being abused. You think I haven’t thought all that? Why do you think I didn’t tell either you or Ro?” He swallows down his anger to take a deep breath, count to ten, and slowly exhales. “If you - if you _think_ that there is anyone more ashamed of what I’ve done than me...” Seth goes towards the back to grab another carton of cigarettes. “Yeah, Dean. Save all of that for someone who gives a shit about your apology. I have to be a glorified stock boy.”

“Renee and I are moving to San Francisco. And if everything goes well, we’re gonna head east, to New York.”

Seth stops in his tracks. “New York's kinda... far.”

“Yeah. Not immediately, but, you know. I've no doubt Renee's gonna kick ass and get the position in their East Coast office.” Dean kicks the floor with the toe of his boot. “I don’t wanna... I don’t want to go anywhere before we clear things up. Seth, you know I’ve always been kinda stupid, I never know what to say. And I am sorry for... I’m sorry. I shoulda checked in on you more, and did more to make you feel safe so you could, I don’t know, trust us to tell us what was really happening.” He finally meets Seth’s eyes. “You’re my best friend.”

And they are eight again, eleven again, thirteen again, sharing a moment between them: when Seth discovered he was different from most of their friends and Dean was angry at everything in the world for being ugly and painful and they had no one to talk to who’d understand but each other, when it was too hard to be what other people wanted them to be. 

“You’re a fucking jerk,” Seth whispers. His throat feels tight and sour. “When are you moving to San Fran?”

“Sunday.” Dean smiles lopsidedly. “Renee’s kinda hoping you’ll have lunch with us on Saturday before we go.”

“Sure.” Seth doesn’t move. He doesn’t know if he’s going to cry, but he’s so _tired_ , and Dean is really going to go away when they’ve just reconnected, and San Francisco is far - Seth has never traveled that distance by himself before - and New York is even further and he can’t just _leave-_

Dean goes up to Seth and crushes him in a tight embrace. “I’m gonna miss you, dummy.”

“You goddamn jerk,” Seth mutters, hugging him back. Dean smells like cigarettes and beer and exhaust fumes, and it’s so different from when they were kids play-fighting in Seth’s backyard, talking shit about the popular guys in class or shooting hoops. “I haven’t forgiven you fully, just so you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles. He slaps Seth on the back a few times. “Hey, at least you get custody of Roman for now.”

Seth snorts. “Yeah, well, he keeps telling me off for staring at him when he comes out of the shower.” His face falls a little. “I wouldn’t know what to do if he weren't here.” Then he frowns and punches Dean lightly in the shoulder. “You gonna apologize to Finn as well?”

“You still with the Irish dude? I thought you broke up.”

“That’s... I don’t know if...” Seth shakes himself mentally. “My issues with him are mine, but you were rude to him. I’d appreciate it if you’d apologize to him too.”

The other man scrunches up his face. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” says Seth firmly. “Don’t make me tell Renee to make you do it.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll do it.” 

After Seth gives Dean his phone, he goes back to work, checking the shelves to remove expired goods and restocking some of the emptier ones. He tries his best not to listen in on Dean’s conversation with Finn, although he knows he can’t possibly hear Finn’s voice; he aches to have Finn call him _‘sweetheart’_ again, to listen to Finn’s Irish lilt, to hold close to his heart the strange words that Finn murmurs in his ear when the older man thinks he’s asleep. (His favorite is a phrase that sounds like _ah stow mow krey_ , because Finn always says it - said it - with great tenderness, like a caress or a kiss.)

When Dean hangs up, he goes over to Seth, who’s now arranging bars of chocolate. “He accepted the apology. He, uh, he also asked if you’re doing okay.”

“What did you say?” Seth keeps working.

“That you’re okay.” Dean slides his phone into his back pocket. “Unless you’re not.”

Pretending that he isn't dying to hear Finn's voice himself, Seth shrugs. “I will be.”

***

“Think the redhead will remember anything?” Luke asks quietly. They're getting ready to leave Ethan Carter III to his fate.

Joe smirks. “Doubt it, the way the bastard was pawing at her.” He doesn't have to kill Eva Marie though; she is a brainless little thing, her only crime trying to make it up the social ladder via rich smug bastard. It is a lot harder to kill two people and make it look like an accident. Her ditching her date made Joe's job three times easier to carry out.

The security system has been dealt with, the false alarms the past two evenings annoying Carter so much that he had it taken down. The security team is laughably bad at their jobs, in Joe's opinion. They never found the bugs Joe planted, and they never thought to check his credentials (though he has faked them exceedingly well). Their mistakes, his gain.

Their boss isn't any smarter. Carter decided to give most of them the night off because he'd intended to have some fun with Marie. All Joe had to do was wait. He made dinner as per Daniel Bryan’s overly-detailed instructions, and then there were only the asshole and the starlet in the whole house. Except he did something she really couldn't stand, and she left in a huff, driven by Carter's chauffeur, and the bastard then instructed his right-hand man to find him a couple of high-end escorts for the night, leaving a bare minimum of two men walking around the outside of the rented mansion.

Sometimes, Joe thinks, he should thank the idiots who do half the work for him.

Carter never even saw Joe coming. It took Joe less than two minutes to render the man utterly unconscious, and an injection of excess insulin ensured that Carter would not be able to stop Joe in time. And - how coincidental - he will happen to have been smoking a cigar that will somehow ignite his clothes and the rug which, as luck would have it, will catch on fire.

Such an _unfortunate_ tragedy. His pharmaceutical company may never recover.

Joe checks that he's retrieved all his bugs, wipes down the surfaces in the kitchen, and then goes into the room to light the cigar held loosely in EC3’s slack grip. Joe shifts the man's wrist, angling it until he is sure the cigar's glowing tip will touch the rug, and then he gets out of dodge in the van driven by Luke. The safehouse is somewhere in Koreatown, over a chop shop; the neighborhood is populated with a number of less-than-savory characters. It'll be another three days before he goes back to his bar.

While Luke wipes down the van before leaving it for their landlord to rip apart, Joe gets rid of his disguise. For the past week and a half, he’s been dressed like the less-known brother of Guy Fieri, and he’s glad to be rid of the stupid blond wig. Joe will burn it with Goatface Bryan later, him and Luke having sorted out the supplier earlier that evening when they went to get ingredients. A straightforward garroting with organic hemp cord was all it took to shut that holier-than-thou vegan up. They're halfway to the dumping grounds in a crappy Honda when they hear reports of the conflagration at EC3's rented mansion over the radio.

“Synthetic materials, man,” Joe remarks. “Dangerously flammable.”

Luke snorts. “You’re a merciless bastard.” He texts Karl who's at the hospital. In another hour, celebrity chef Rey Mysterio will have suffered an embolism and passed away.

The Samoan grins. “Tell your boss he's to deposit the rest of the money tomorrow. Just in time for Christmas bonuses.” 

“Assuming he’s done moping over Seth.”

Taken aback, Joe frowns at Luke. “What do you mean, moping over Seth?”

***

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sasha says.

Finn looks up from his appointment book. “Enough what? I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re growing more miserable by the _minute_ ,” says the domme. Her vibrant purple hair is tied in pigtails today, and she is in a cute sailor outfit, but the look on her face is anything but adorable. Her gaze cuts from Finn to the appointment book, which is crammed full of clients as can possibly fit. “You’re trying to work it off but it’s not helping.”

“Would you prefer I drink it off?” Finn snaps. He is already drinking far too much, almost as much as he used to in the bad days in Tokyo, but he’s coping. It's the penthouse. He's returned to it since that night and he hates every inch of it, except for the herbs and the orchids. Earlier, when his phone lit up with  _Sweetheart calling_ , he'd thought Seth had forgiven him, but it was that Dean guy apologizing. At least he and Seth must have made up if he's using Seth's phone.

Sasha reaches across the desk and smacks him, hard. “Don’t start with me. You miss him. Go look for him.”

“No,” he says. “Seth said he wants some time and space, and he needs to be his own person for a while, so I can’t.”

“And in the meantime you’re barely paying attention to any of your clients. That last session, with us both, it felt like you were going through the motions of BDSM 101. Boring and predictable.” Sasha folds her arms. “If the Greenes weren’t new to this, they’d have caught on.”

Finn leans back in his chair and runs his hands over his face. Bayley, who’s just met up with Seth, said he looks a little tired but he hasn’t lost weight nor has he fallen sick, so that is reassuring. He’s returned the credit card Finn gave him, though. 

(At least he hasn’t returned the key to the penthouse. It’s small comfort, but Finn will take what he can get.)

The orchids and herbs are suffering under his care. Finn has Googled how often to water them, but he’s doing something wrong. They’re dying, and he is terrified that Seth will come back and see his plants dead and think that Finn didn’t care for them, that he doesn’t care for _Seth_.  

“If I’m not working,” he confesses, “I don’t know what to do.”

Sasha walks around the desk and sits on it, facing him. She cups his cheek and looks him in the eye. “Send him a text. Tell him that you miss him, and that you hope he’s doing okay. Then go to Joe, and for fuck’s sake, just let him take care of you for one night.”

“Joe’s working.”  _Fuck. There's still that damn EC3 contract._  Finn closes the appointment book. “I’m going to spend the night at Tyler’s.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Seth sleeps with Roman, Finn gets his hands dirty, and Mustafa and Cedric get pancakes.

Seth stands outside of Roman’s bedroom door for- Well, he isn’t sure how long, but he knows that his feet are hurting by the time Roman opens the door, on his way to the bathroom across the hall, next to the small second bedroom he’s allowing Seth to use. Roman’s still half-asleep, and he stumbles into Seth, who gasps and apologizes, trying to steady Roman.

“Jesus, Seth,” Roman grumbles - not like he’s angry, though, Seth notices with relief; he only sounds tired, ready to fall back asleep at the drop of a hat. (Roman was always the one who could easily sleep anywhere, no matter what time of day or night, no matter if they were in the apartment they all shared, piled on the sofa, or riding in Dean’s beat-up little Chevy, the shocks practically useless, Seth having to brace himself against every bump in the road, while Roman- Roman slept like he was in a small coma, soft snores and his breath fogging up the window the only things making Seth and Dean certain he was only sleeping. It’s a quality Seth has always been a little envious of; there are a lot of things he wishes he could have slept through.) “What are you doing?”

Immediately, more apologies rush to Seth’s lips. “I’m sorry, I’ll-” He makes to turn, to go back to his temporary room, but Roman snags his wrist, his hold loose enough that Seth can break away if he wants, without much effort, but he doesn’t.

“Seth,” repeats Roman, his other hand rising to tilt Seth’s chin up. Seth had left the overhead light above the stove on earlier, the dim amber shining through the door he’d kept slightly ajar, now illuminating his features for Roman to see the silvery tear tracks on his cheeks. He says Seth’s name again, and this time, he sounds like he’s in pain, looks a little more awake and aware. “What’s wrong?”

There’s a hitch in Seth's breath, his throat closing temporarily as he attempts to find his words. “I-” He tries again, swallowing hard. “I’m- I can’t _sleep_ ,” he finally gets out, miserable and lost. “I can’t- It’s- Finn made the nightmares go away.” His voice is small, his words childish, tears battling. He thinks of Dean - of the Dean _now_ \- and knows that he would tell Seth to _suck it up and get over it_ , fears for a moment that Roman will say he’s too much to deal with, that his leftover baggage is too big to handle with any sort of care, but-

“Give me a minute, alright?” says Roman, gesturing vaguely to the bathroom. “Here.” He tugs gently at Seth’s wrist, pulls him into his own bedroom and urges him to sit at the end of the bed. “I’ll be quick,” he says and leaves the room, the light from his bathroom flashing bright for just a second before the door closes and everything is bathed in dimness once more, leaving Seth alone. (All alone, alone for the first time in _months,_ frightened of sleeping by himself, of seeing Mas- _Hunter_ in his nightmares, hearing Orton’s voice in his ear, reliving past humiliations and pain and-)

The toilet flushes, the sink tap turning on and off, the soothing sound of rushing water breaking through Seth’s thoughts. He hears Roman shuffling about, the door opening, footsteps coming closer, and then Roman is in front of him, tipping his head back with a damp hand cupping his jaw.

“What do you need?”

(Love, safety, happiness - _Finn_.)

“Can I-” His brow furrows. “Can I stay with you tonight? In here?” Roman’s lips part, a conflicted expression passing over his face in the darkness. “Not-” Seth struggles to explain. “Not for- not for that. Just- I always slept in Finn’s bed, even before we-” He loses his words, his heart hurting. “He kept the dreams from haunting me. I- I tried, Ro, I did, and I can't _sleep,_ I can't... I can't keep them out of my head. They were never so bad when he was there.” Seth feels tears fill his eyes, but he blinks them away. _No more crying._ “Can I just… sleep with you?” He feels sick, his stomach rolling as he chokes out a strangled _please_.

Two big hands are cupping his face now, and Roman’s forehead touches Seth’s, their noses brushing, and it’s a throwback to their friendship from Before (before Hunter, before everything got so _fucked up_ ) that makes Seth’s heart ache even more.

“Come on,” Roman murmurs, stroking Seth’s hair away from his face. “Scoot back.”

It’s awkward for a few minutes, for the two of them - two fully-grown, adult men - to adjust to each other, for their limbs to shift and re-adjust to each of their comforts. They finally settle, Seth’s back to Roman’s front, Roman’s tattooed arm beneath Seth’s head, the hand of his other sort of awkwardly resting on Seth’s hip until Seth draws it around himself, tucks it to his chest, pressing back against Roman’s warm body, tangling their fingers together. Eventually, they relax, their breaths evening out, eyes closing once again.

Roman isn’t Finn, can’t give Seth the same comfort the Irishman can, but - though the nightmares still come - Roman’s arm, tight around Seth, anchors him to the present when he wakes, reminds him that he is no longer trapped and isolated, no longer _imprisoned_.

(He still wishes that Finn is the one behind him, and wonders if Finn is sleeping at all.)

***

“Boss, there's a problem.”

In the backseat, feeling a hangover approaching, Finn cracks open an eye reluctantly. “Karl, really not in the mood right now.”

“We got a shadow.”

Finn frowns and peers at the windshield mirror. Indeed, there is a blue car following them, driven by a young man who looks vaguely familiar. The kid isn’t doing too good a job, though; he’s following too closely, not putting a car between them or pretending to slow down. It takes a moment or two when they stop at a light before Finn sees who the guy is: Dominic Mysterio, the chef’s only son. He flew into Los Angeles when his father was hospitalized.

He must have seen Karl at the hospital. 

Not Karl's fault. Some things aren't in their control. All they can do is tidy up when necessary.

“Karl, babe, take us somewhere private. You have your cleanup gear?”

“Always,” says Karl, and makes a right turn. The blue car follows.

As Karl drives towards the beach, Finn pulls on his gloves and fishes out his butterfly knife with some reluctance. He may be in a terrible mood, but their stalker really is just a grieving kid. 

But that is Rey Mysterio’s kid, which means he is a loose end, which means Finn will have to get his hands dirty whether he likes it or not. He'll make it quick. The Jaguar is faster, so they manage to lose him for precious minutes, just enough time to prepare. 

They nab him when he stops and exits the car to figure out why the Jaguar has parked near the beach. Karl knocks him out, then drags the kid to the edge of the water. Staying on the sand, Finn uses his knife. A simple stab to the base of the skull, a cut across his throat, and it is done.

"I'll take the Jaguar," Finn says. "You deal with his car, get it to one of the usual chop shops. Make sure the dashcam and its contents are destroyed."

"Sure thing," says Karl. "Sorry about this though. I should've checked before I popped the pop."

"What's done is done." Finn cleans his knife and returns it to its place. He looks again at the lifeless body. "Sorry, kid. Better luck next life." Frowning, he tells Karl, “I’m gonna go to Tyler’s. I need to blow off some steam.”

***

Tyler groans and rolls over. “Drake, I _know_ I have a release party, and we are pressed for time, but you know I can’t miss the family’s annual Christmas gathering.” A pause. “Yes, I know. I get it, I know you’re worried, but I’ll be fine. That’s why you gave E&C that briefing, remember?” Another burst of urgent babbling. “Drake, chill, okay? Focus on your own Christmas. You’re newly married to a complete babe. Go make babies, you hetero. Bye.”

After hanging up the phone, he tosses it aside and picks up Prince Pretty instead. “I wish you could be there with me, Princey. At least I’ll have a friend with me.”

The doorbell rings. Curious, Tyler goes to the intercom and calls Ember, who’s on duty. “Who did you let in?”

_“It’s Mr Armani. He’s alone.”_

Ember’s nickname for Finn always amuses Tyler. She’s one of the good ones in the team. Gable’s a little subdued these days, after Jason Jordan was switched to a different team, and the new one, Reigns, is still a closed book to Tyler. He thanks her and goes to open the door downstairs. Finn is indeed alone, his sleek Jaguar parked at an angle to the front door. The Irishman walks in like he owns the place, picks Tyler up and pulls his thighs around his waist, slamming him into the wall nearest the entrance. His breath smells of whiskey, and his eyes already dark. 

"You drove under the influence? Finn, that's dangerous."

"I live for danger." Finn mouths along Tyler's jaw and sucks idly on his neck.

Despite his concern, Tyler feels himself beginning to respond to his dom's advances. "Do you wanna play?"

“Not in the mood for playing tonight,” Finn murmurs, “but I’m gonna be rough. That good with you?”

Somewhat breathless from the collision, Tyler bites his lower lip. He can use a bit of roughness before he has to fly home for the annual Christmas party - a few bruises to press on when he has to pretend to be _respectable_ , the itch of scabbing skin to focus on when forced to listen to the umpteenth brag about golf or fishing or hunting. He wraps his limbs around Finn and kisses him, hard, biting playfully at the Irishman’s lower lip. “Go for it. No one will be seeing me naked where I’m going in a couple days.”

***

_'If you and boss man are gonna mess around in his office again, be sure and give me and Paige fair warning.'_

Mustafa is greeted with the text from Becky two afternoons after his impulsive voice message to Joe. He doesn’t have more than a moment to be embarrassed that the girls obviously know what transpired in Joe’s office before the older man had gone on his trip before he’s feeling something _else_ , a tug of concern in his gut, a twinge of uncertainty in the back of his mind.

_'He's back?'_

It’s been radio silence from Joe since his last message, since the threat of a punishment sent a wild thrill throughout Mustafa’s entire body. In all fairness, Mustafa hasn’t sent anything since, either, but he’s been drowning in the paperwork thrown at him from the cases Rush is investigating. Even Sarge has commented on the amount being directed to Mustafa instead of Cedric, but despite the combination of Sarge's beady-eyed stare and jutting jaw, Rush hasn’t budged.

_'Course he’s back, why else would I be telling you to give us a ‘fuck notice’?'_

The reply gains a soft snort from Mustafa, his lips twitching in a small smile before he bites his lip, chewing at the soft skin, anxiety clawing at him. _Don’t be an idiot,_ he tells himself. _Joe’s busy. He’s only just gotten back, and he’s probably exhausted from jet lag. He’ll text you later._

(He repeats those words to himself, over and over, but the gnawing insecurity he feels crawling up his spine doesn’t go away.)

“What’s up with you?” Dana asks as she comes over with yet another folder. Thankfully, she doesn’t put it on his desk. When he looks at her with wide eyes and a smile, she squints at him. “That doesn’t work on me, caramel dumpling. You’re terrible at acting okay.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “Is it ‘cause Rush has it in for you?”

“Nah, I mean... It’s just desk duty.” Mustafa bites the side of his cheek. He doesn’t want to confide in anyone yet. Perhaps it’s him being too clingy. “Say, did anyone find that knife? Or was it really a gun?” 

Dana shrugs. “I’ll go check for you. Cheer up, moose nugget, things will get better.”

Once she leaves his desk, Cedric rolls his chair over (that damn squeaky wheel sounding worse every second) and punches his best friend in the arm lightly. “We’re off in a few. Wanna grab dinner at the New Day?”

“Cedric, you’re fucking addicted to their pancakes.”

“Like you aren’t.”

Mustafa glances at the clock. Any other day, he’d stay a little longer, plow through at least another ten forms, but Joe is back, and going to the New Day means he can pop in and visit his boyfriend. ( _Is_ Joe his boyfriend? He hopes he’s not presuming, but... He cuts off the thoughts before they spiral again, that twinge of insecurity beginning to rise once more.) “Let’s go. I’m gonna stop in at Joe’s, so get your whining done in the car, no more once we get out.”

“I don’t _whine-”_

“Yes you dooooo.”

*

As per usual, finding parking near one’s destination in any part of Los Angeles is a _nightmare_ , and they find themselves making the three-block walk toward Joe’s and New Day once again. (Mustafa’s stomach flutters at the memory of the first time they’d made the short trek toward the new diner, the night he’d met Joe and Becky and Paige; those soft flutters transition to nervous spasms as he frets over the knowledge that _Joe is back_ and he’s yet to contact Mustafa. Is Joe still sleeping off jet lag? Or maybe Joe intends to call him at a time when they are both free?)

Cedric is nattering on about asking out some girl he met recently at the gym, having already complained loudly in the car on the way here. Mustafa does his best to pay attention. When he sees the bar, however, he tunes his best friend out completely.

Joe has just stepped out - _new haircut, beard trimmed_ \- and he’s frowning at his phone. Mustafa feels his heart jump (and isn’t that ridiculously _adolescent?_ ) as he hurries forward to close the distance. The big man looks up just as Mustafa stops three paces away.

“Hey, you’re back,” Mustafa says. He can barely fight the urge to bounce on his heels.

Joe’s eyes narrow, first at Cedric, a half-step behind Mustafa, and then at Mustafa before they dart back down to his phone, a text alert sounding. His scowl deepens as he types out a response and shoves the mobile into his pocket, then his attention is back on Mustafa. “Yeah.”

Mustafa swallows, a bit… _hurt_ , he realizes. He’s not- He hadn’t expected a dramatic reunion, declarations of feelings or intentions, but… Joe’s gaze seems to pass right through him and, the way his fingers tap over the phone in his jeans pocket, it’s obvious that the man’s thoughts are on whatever - _whomever_ \- he's just been messaging.

He still smiles at Joe, however. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, me too.” The corner of Joe’s mouth twitches, and then he says, “Look, I gotta go. Something’s come up and my ride’s here. I’ll see you around?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he’s crossing the road to get into a black sedan. The car drives off.

Cedric, now standing next to Mustafa, mutters, “What the _fuck_ was that?”

Mustafa opens his mouth to speak, but no words make it out, his throat a little too tight. _Joe’s a busy man, Mustafa,_ he tells himself. _You should’ve texted him you were on your way; he would’ve made time for you or let you know a better time to stop by._ (It hurts to swallow, and his eyes are burning, but he can’t-)

“Joe’s a busy man,” he repeats aloud. “I should’ve let him know we were coming.”

“Fuck that,” scowls Cedric, dark eyes glaring in the direction of the sedan. “He’s your- What is he? He’s your goddamn _boyfriend_ \- he met _Mama_ \- and he should make the goddamn time for you, advance notice or not.”

Mustafa has to bite down the first angry retort that comes to him. After a deep breath, he says, “Drop it, Ced. Let’s get our pancakes.”

Cedric takes a breath, obviously ready to argue, but backs down when Mustafa glances sidelong at him. (His eyes are a little wet, he can feel, and his cheeks are warm with- With anger? Humiliation? Hurt?) Frowning, Cedric offers a sharp nod, and they continue on down the street, the silence heavy between them.

As they get their pancakes, Cedric and Mustafa assiduously avoid the topic of Joe, and Cedric does all the talking. At least it’s just Kofi alone at the counter today; Mustafa doesn’t think he can cope with Big E and his quips in his state of mind. Even his favorite pecan and chocolate chip combo doesn’t ease the sting of Joe’s dismissal.

When they finish their food, Cedric sighs. “Are we gonna-” He cuts himself off, Mustafa’s gaze shifting to the darker man, his expression a quiet plea. “Right. Never mind, then.”

(It’s moments like this when Mustafa truly appreciates Cedric and their friendship, the way the other man knows when to push and when to leave well enough alone until Mustafa is ready.)

“We should head back; we’ve got the early shift in the morning, remember?” reminds Mustafa.

Kofi takes the plates. “You two okay?”

“Been a long day is all,” Cedric says.

“Every day’s twenty-four hours, Ced, we all have equally long days.” 

At that, Mustafa has to grin. “Pearls of wisdom part of the house special?”

Kofi grins at them both and waves as the two cops leave. Cedric drapes an arm over Mustafa’s shoulders and hugs him close. “Hey, chin up. It’ll be okay, Stafa.”

“Yeah, of course.” Mustafa makes an effort and relaxes his shoulders. He’s not a teenager anymore, damn it. Joe did look like he was preoccupied; maybe whatever that has come up really is troubling.

_Doesn’t explain the fact that he didn’t tell you he returned. Or the lack of messages._

Cedric and Mustafa stroll back to the car. There are more pedestrians now, and Christmas songs are blaring obnoxiously from too many of the shops. Privately, Mustafa _hates_ this season, because when he was growing up, he always got snide looks or racist remarks from his peers since his family didn’t celebrate it. The good thing about LA now that he is an adult is that he can always go where he knows people don’t celebrate Christmas and its rampant consumerism. After passing the third shop playing _Rudolph_ , Mustafa thinks he should order some reindeer jerky, treat himself.

“I swear, when I’m old and senile, I’ll still remember every last word of all these carols,” Cedric grumbles. “The other day I thought I’d go insane hearing _O Holy Night_.”

“That one’s not bad.”

“It is _grating_ when sung by those hideous chipmunks.” Cedric launches into an imitation and Mustafa laughs, but stop when they both hear something decidedly not festive.

It feels like _deja vu_ \- commotion, voices, a struggle sounding just a few feet from them, in the alleyway to the side of a little shop Mustafa has passed a hundred times. Cedric stiffens beside him in front of the window, hand drifting to the gun on his hip, and they share a glance, beginning to draw forward as the argument escalates, one of the voices rising.

Mustafa stops at the end of the alley, at the corner of the building, Cedric behind him as Mustafa edges forward, looking into the alleyway. There are two men - he signals Cedric behind him, two fingers held high; the one whose face he can see has his hands up, expression frightened as he speaks.

“Look, man, it’s _Christmas_ ,” he’s saying. “I got kids!”

“Do I look like I give a _fuck_ about that? Give me the wallet or your kids won’t have no daddy!” The mugger’s arm waves and Mustafa’s gut clenches as the soft light of a street lamp outside the alley catches a glint of metal. He signals Cedric again - _armed, circle round_ \- and moves forward a few steps, keeping to the shadows, the sound of his footsteps masked by the loud begging of the other man as well as the overly-cheerful song ( _jingle bells, jingle bells_ ) just behind him. His hand feels cold where he’s gripping his gun. He doesn’t want to fire the weapon; he hopes he won’t have to.

The mugger isn’t paying attention to the alleyway’s entrance at all. He brandishes the gun and the guy cowers, reaching into his back pocket for the wallet. His hand trembles as he hands it to the mugger, who peers into it.

“Happy holidays, loser,” says the mugger, and aims the gun at the victim’s head.

“Police! Drop the gun right now!” Mustafa shouts.

There’s a quick moment of shock from both of the men in front of him, the assailant jerking around quickly, arm raised, gun glinting in the amber light; Mustafa raises his own, shouting his warning a second time, fingers white around the grip, and he sees Cedric rounding the corner. 

So does the guy with the gun.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where everyone needs a hug.

It’s nice having Joe back, though Finn thinks it’d have been better if Tyler is around, but the princess is busy sorting out some last-minute issues with his clothing line before he flies out the day after tomorrow for a few days, to endure his family's annual Christmas bash. But drinking by the pool with Joe is a small comfort that he hasn’t indulged in for too long.

“I’ll transfer the rest to your account in the morning,” says Finn, after pouring himself and Joe a generous measure of a 1916 single malt. (It's from his personal cache, not Tyler's, and he'd been saving it for a special occasion. Maybe getting his heart thoroughly broken counts as one.)

“Fuck the money. Wanna tell me what the hell happened with Seth?”

It hurts, unexpectedly (or perhaps it’s just as expected, Finn isn’t certain), to hear Seth’s name from other people - more when it’s unprompted. Finn isn’t an imbecile, knows that someone ( _Luke_ , Finn thinks), at some point, would have mentioned it to Joe, knows that _this_ is the reason Joe is here less than an hour after he’s gotten home from the safe house the second he knew the coast is clear. “Not particularly.” 

“Too fucking bad.”

Finn snorts. “You’re an asshole,” he mutters, tossing back another shot of the whiskey Tyler had reluctantly delivered to him, concerned eyes watching Finn carefully, the little dent between his eyebrows appearing, and Finn’s heart had clenched just a little. (Not enough to hand the liquor back, though, not enough to ignore the stabbing pain just _there_ , in his chest.)

Joe sits back, his eyes narrowing slightly. He’d looked at Finn like this before, back in Tokyo, just before _that_ deal, and less than a day later, Joe had shown up in his apartment and injured him enough to put him out of commission, derailed the entire arrangement, and ensured that no one had complete control of Tokyo’s underworld. A bullet, a stab wound, and then a move to Los Angeles to start all over again. 

“It’s all your fault,” Finn tells him. “If you hadn’t felt sorry for him, I would never have encountered him and I wouldn’t have fa-” He cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. He can’t acknowledge it, not to Joe, not like this. “I’d be enjoying my life, being a dom to beautiful people.”

“You fell in love.” 

Finn can’t decipher the tone Joe is using. Fifteen years they’ve known each other, and the Irishman has never once heard Joe talk to him like this, not even that night in his Tokyo apartment. “It’s worse than that.”

“Can’t be worse than the time I nearly killed you,” Joe points out, a small smile on his lips, but it’s not humor in his eyes.

Not wanting to talk about Seth any more, even in a roundabout way, Finn seizes the opportunity to dive into the past. “Maybe I should’ve taken your offer to live with you in Vegas way back when I decided to leave Regal. No Japan, just us against the world.” He leans his glass against Joe’s knee. The amber liquid inside swirls. “Maybe we could have fallen in love.”

“Yeah, well, that offer’s long been rescinded. You and I would’ve tried to murder each other after one week of living together.”

Finn chuckles, lifts the glass to take another drink, refills it. Joe’s dark eyes watch him the entire time, but he doesn’t stop him, lets him indulge and try to ignore the pain for a while longer.

“Might’ve,” replies Finn, “but at least then-” He swallows another shot, his vision swimming a bit when he tips his head back down, the liquor burning its way down to his belly, settling there, a warm feeling Finn hadn’t realized he’d missed (not until Seth had taken all the warmth with him when he’d gone, Finn’s penthouse cold, his bed lonely, his _heart_ -).

He doesn’t even realize what’s happening until Joe has taken the whiskey away from him and pulls Finn into his lap for a hug, and then he brushes a tender kiss to Finn’s lips. It bites like _pity_ , and Finn wants to throw it back in the big man's face, but he gives in to the rare display of affection and curls closer to Joe instead, tucking his face into the big man's neck and shutting out the world. Joe, who is deadly and sarcastic and a goddamn _stubborn_ man, who kills for money yet adheres to a strict moral code, who has always watched out for Finn and tried to keep him from making stupid mistakes, who once offered Finn a chance to build a life together...

All the _ifs_ and _maybes_ sting like salt on an open wound, but he knows he lucked out back when Regal chose the big man at the bar for him. He nuzzles against the older man, breathes him in, soaks in the sweet familiarity of being held by thick arms. Joe pets Finn's hair, his thighs, tucking their bodies together. Only the lights by the pool illuminate the scene. It's getting chilly, even for LA, and Finn is glad to borrow Joe's warmth, even for a little while. This peace between them won’t last - it never does, they’re too set in their own ways by now to compromise - but it is _nice_ to feel safe and understood. 

Perhaps the silence gets to Joe. He starts telling Finn about the job, about his stupid blond hair ("the idiot kept asking if I was Guy Fieri's cousin") and the fake Brooklyn accent ("I sounded terrible, can't believe they fell for it") and the pretentious recipes (“he insisted on _hand-ground_ almond butter, can you believe that?”) and the voice recording Mustafa sent him, though he is a selfish bastard and doesn't share the recording itself ("I never thought he'd do something like that on his own initiative for me."). Joe probably doesn’t realize it, but the way he talks about Mustafa is not the way he treats someone inconsequential. Finn is both happy for Joe and doubtful about the relationship, but he holds his tongue. 

After a while, he feels a buzzing under his butt. “Someone’s calling you,” he mumbles into Joe’s neck. His voice is a little raspy, his throat tight and sore.

“They can wait.” 

(It’s nice, sometimes, to be made a priority, to be taken care of. It's been so long since he was the recipient of such attention. Finn’s eyes are burning, different from the smooth burn in his stomach, the painful burn in his chest; he blinks, hard, and the burn disappears.) Still, Finn is a responsible man most of the time, much as he wants to be a selfish little brat right now. “At least look who it is; one of the girls might need you.” 

Joe’s chest expands on a sigh, Finn rising and falling with it where he’s resting against him. One of Joe’s hands drags away from his waist, sliding down beneath Finn’s ass to pull the mobile from his pocket, shifting until he can see the screen, Finn pulling his face from the big man’s neck to look with him, nosy as ever. “Your cop,” Finn murmurs, closing his eyes for a second to slow the spinning. His eyebrow quirks. “You gonna answer him?”

Finn catches the twitch of Joe’s lips, the slight softening of his eyes as he stares at the name and the picture of a smiling Mustafa on the screen a moment longer before he clears his expression and declines the call, tossing the phone down in Finn’s vacated chair. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Finn laughs again, eyes closing as he presses his face back into Joe’s shoulder, buries his nose in Joe’s neck; he feels weightless, more so when Joe moves him again, shifting them both so that he can recline a bit more. “He’s gonna get you into trouble, that one, if you don't get out soon.”

Joe snorts, one big hand smoothing up and down Finn’s back. (It’s nice, comforting, and Finn’s eyelids feel heavy, his body the same, a startling contrast to the weightlessness of a moment ago.) The older man doesn't dispute Finn's assertion, however. Just to be contrary, Finn confesses, "I asked him out to dinner, by the way."

"You were going to try to seduce him, weren't you?" There's a pause. "How was the food?"

The younger man laughs quietly. He sounds unpracticed. "He turned me down. Poor taste in men, truly."

Joe chuckles, a rumble that echoes through his body. "Says the bastard who always ends up begging for my cock."

"Good taste in cocks. Bad taste in _men._ " Finn trails a finger down the back of Joe's neck. "He's besotted. You can't let it go on."

The big man sighs and says, "It'll hurt. It's going to hurt him a lot."

The phone buzzes again, and both men turn to stare at it. It's still Mustafa's name on the screen. Finn reaches over and grabs the phone. "Better answer him."

Joe hesitates. The Irishman nods and pushes the buzzing device into his hand. Just as Joe's about to answer, the call ends.

A message pops up: 'ANSEER YOUR FUCKIGN PH9ME' and then another phone call comes through, before Joe can even go to his messaging app. This one, Joe picks up immediately, putting it on speaker. "Hey, baby."

" _Finally, you absolute fuckwit, I have been trying to reach you for-fucking-ever_." It's emphatically _not_ Mustafa on the other end.

Joe scowls. "Cedric? The hell you calling me on his phone for?" An unfamiliar expression of concern flashes over his broad face. "What happened to Mustafa?"

" _He's been shot_." Cedric rattles off the name of a hospital. Joe and Finn immediately stand up, both heading back to the house. " _Fucking mugger shot him after we left the diner. Get here ASAP or I swear to all that’s holy I will kick your ass._ "

Beneath all that is worry and genuine terror. Joe snaps off a curt "I'll be there soon" and ends the call. Finn digs out his Jaguar’s keys and tosses them to Joe, who snatches them out of the air.

Joe pauses at the door, pulling on his shoes. "He said it was after they left the diner; that'd be near the New Day diner."

 _Find the bastard who hurt Mustafa_ , is what Joe means. Finn nods. "Keep us posted." 

Joe doesn't bother answering. 

Paige answers on the second ring when the Irishman calls. " _What's up, Finn?_ "

"Use every resource you got," Finn says. "Mustafa got shot by a mugger near the New Day diner." The young woman inhales sharply, but Finn doesn't let her start asking questions. "Joe's already heading to the hospital. Tell Becks to pick me up at Tyler's."

***

Everything is moving in slow-motion, and the sounds are both muffled yet clear at the same time. Mustafa has his gun up as he’s yelling for Cedric to duck, and then there’s a bright flare, and he falls backwards, more from the shock than from impact or pain. He goes numb, and thinks, _Oh, it’s not so bad after all._ But then the pain kicks in, hot and _wet_ , blanking out the rest of the world. He clutches his abdomen and stares dumbly as red seeps through his shirt and over his hand. 

 _It’s going to be hard to wash that out,_ he thinks. _Thank goodness it’s not my favorite shirt._

_(“Of course the mugger got away, my best friend was shot! Did you really think I’d leave him there while I gave chase?”)_

He’s always known that, as a policeman and as a Muslim, he has a higher chance of being shot at, but it’s always been a detached acceptance. The real thing _hurts_. Mustafa can’t believe no one ever told him how much being shot hurts.

“Oh, baby, what happened?” Joe goes down on one knee to push aside Mustafa’s hand covering his wound. “You’re bleeding.”

“You’re here,” Mustafa replies. Relief and confusion washes over him. “Why are you here?”

Joe prods at the entry wound, ignoring Mustafa’s scream of agony, and then licks the blood off his fingers. “Of course I’m here. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

_(“Look, the mugging victim is outside, can’t you take his statement first- Doctor, doc, how’s my friend? Why was he screaming? Is he gonna be okay?”)_

Mustafa feels a cry trapped in his throat. “It’s all I wanted,” he pants out, tears blurring his vision. “I wanted to see you.”

“And now I’m here,” Joe tells him, his dark eyes staring intently at Mustafa - and they’re so _cold_ , so _indifferent_ , Mustafa finally releases the sob he’s been holding back. He feels fingers poking at his wound again and can’t stop the second scream either.

_(“You have to let us work, sir, please wait outside.”)_

“Please,” he cries. “Please help me.”

Joe cocks his head and studies Mustafa. Behind the big man, Cedric is helping the other guy to his feet, shouting at him to _call 911, say a police officer’s been shot_ , but it’s as if the two men are behind frosted glass. Under all the commotion, Mustafa thinks he hears ‘ _We wish you a Merry Christmas’_. Sighing, Joe says, “We should’ve stopped while it was good, baby. Now look at you.”

Mustafa wants to touch him. His arm weighs a ton, and he can’t really move. Nevertheless, he strains for Joe, ignoring the pain, but despite the proximity, he can’t reach the big man. “It is good. It’s still good, it is, Joe, it is, _Daddy_ , please, I know we can do this. I'm sorry. I’m sorry I got shot. I won’t do it again. I won’t.”

Joe sighs and shakes his head, a pitying look in the eyes Mustafa loves. “It’s too late, baby,” he tells Mustafa, and then he’s rising, further out of Mustafa’s reach, and his back is to Mustafa, walking away from him, leaving him bleeding out in the dirty alleyway.

***

Joe hears them before he sees them, Cedric’s voice low and projecting that forced calm that barely hides the panic beneath it, and a woman’s soft sobs in the spaces of quiet between the words.

“I’ve called Zenab and she’s on her way down first thing in the morning,” Cedric is saying. “She’s gonna stay at Celina's place while Moose is in hospital.”

Joe recognizes the name. That’s Mustafa’s sister. He has to slow down, compose himself, before he approaches the three waiting outside the operating theater. The blonde policewoman is the first to sense his approach and nudges Cedric. Cedric turns, glaring at Joe with reddened eyes, and Joe thinks that if Cedric didn’t have his arm around his mother, the young man would have tried to punch him.

“How is he?” Joe asks.

“He’s been _shot in the stomach_ , how do you _think_ he is?” Cedric’s voice breaks a little, but he stays strong, not breaking eye contact with Joe, hugging his mother closer when she lets out another strangled whimper.

Joe doesn’t want to make this difficult for anyone. “I meant, what do you know about his injury? What did the doctors say?”

“He was shot in the abdomen, on the right. It's a through-and-through. He's lost a lot of blood,” said the blonde. She holds out a hand. He shakes it, appreciative of the matter-of-fact update. “Dana Brooke. Mustafa likes to talk about you.” She glances at Cedric and his mother, then goes on: “There's a chance that the bullet may have punctured his intestines, which is why he’s in surgery.”

Joe understands. Sepsis. If Mustafa was shot in the limbs, it’ll be considered a minor wound; shots to the torso are deadlier due to the risk of infection. His fists clench but he manages to nod a thanks at Dana.

“Mama, let’s go sit down,” Cedric murmurs to Isis, leaning down to press his forehead to hers. “Moose will-” He clears his throat. “He’ll be okay, Mama. Let’s go sit,” he tells her and begins leading her away, but she stops him with a hand on his forearm.

“I need to go to the ladies, dear. Dana, if you don’t mind?” she asks, and Dana hurries over to walk with Isis, away from the waiting room.

The hallway is filled with nothing except the typical hospital sounds, mechanical beeping and soft whirring and gentle murmurs of patients and doctors alike; Joe can hear nothing from behind the doors separating them from Mustafa.

“I’m surprised.” The policeman’s gaze is steady, his eyes still red-rimmed, his voice gruff.

Joe tenses, ready for a fight. “About?”

Cedric scoffs, swiping a hand through the air, anger clear in the aggressive action. “You didn’t have time for Moose earlier; I didn’t figure you’d waste your time, drop whoever you were with, to rush to his side.”

Joe wants to be furious, wants to hit something, but he instead says, calmly, “He’s hurt; of course I want to be here.”

“If I hadn’t called you - _repeatedly_ \- would you have checked in on him at all, after the way you ignored him earlier? The only reason,” Cedric snaps, voice cracking, “the _only reason_ I called to make sure you knew about him being... about this, is that he loves you. That idiot Moose loves _you_. Of all the men in the fucking world, _he chose you_ , you lucky sonuvabitch, and you don’t even- You don’t deserve him, but it’ll break his heart if... It’ll break his heart _when_ he wakes up and you’re not here, and I love Moose too much to hurt him that way.”

Joe’s chest is tight, a knot working its way up his throat. Cedric is breathing hard, his hands flying up to rub roughly at his face, the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes obvious before he closes them; for the first time since he’s met the man, Joe doesn’t want to say anything cutting, doesn’t feel that edge of annoyance at the overprotective big brother act.

(He finds that he can’t focus on _he loves you_ , can’t think of that knowledge - because he had _known_ , yes, but being _told_ something as a fact is another thing entirely - but his thoughts seem to keep circling back to it. _He loves you._ )

“It wasn’t my intention to seem like I was brushing him off,” Joe admits, a little grudgingly. He doesn’t like explaining himself. “And I was planning to call him in the morning.”

Cedric huffs, folding his arms. They stand in silence for a while, and then the black man says, “He likes peanut butter cups and Alan Rickman's movies.”

It’s an olive branch. The corners of Joe’s mouth twitch. He folds his arms too, and says, “I’ll get him some of both.”

Isis returns with Dana, who tells everyone that she has to go. (“I’ll be back tomorrow, with the rest of the gang. Remember to text me any updates, Ced. Nice to meet you, Joe.”) 

Looking a lot less distressed, Isis thanks Dana and then pats Cedric’s right elbow. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet, Mama.”

“I suppose a bit of hot tea would help. Go buy me some, would you?” she says, but her gaze is on Joe, who finds himself growing increasingly uncomfortable with her scrutiny.

 _Hot tea_ must be some sort of code for the Alexander family, because Cedric practically runs away, leaving Joe to Isis’ mercy. She looks at Joe with a small curve to her lips, but her eyes are cold and furious. “Let’s take a seat, Joe.”

“Let’s.” He makes sure not to leave his back open to her, for all that he can literally pick her up in one arm.

Her back is straight when she sits, and gestures for him to take the seat in front of her. The hospital’s seats are plastic, uncomfortable and narrow. The lights overhead are harsh, and the antiseptic smell of the hospital stings his nose. It’s a perfect setting for an interrogation.

Judging by the way she’s glaring at him, that’s what she thinks too.

“I appreciate that you came all the way here,” she begins, nodding at him, her gaze never wavering, dark eyes focused on his own. “Mustafa-” She pauses, swallows, closes her eyes for only a moment to compose herself. “He will, too.” Here, Isis takes a breath, and her eyes flash with a fire Joe isn’t at all surprised to see from this woman. “ _If_ you’re here when he wakes up.”

Joe doesn’t back down, makes the effort to keep his own gaze as steady as hers. “Why wouldn’t I be?” It’s almost a _challenge_ \- perhaps not the most intelligent move he could have played, but he plays it nonetheless.

Isis sniffs delicately. “Cedric tells me,” she states, voice stronger now, “that you ran away from my Mustafa earlier today.”

The phrasing makes him twitch, his jaw clenching. “I didn’t _run away_ -”

“You _ran away_ ,” continues Isis, the level of her voice never rising, her tone staying firm. “You ran, after weeks of being away, and you hurt my boy, and now he’s- He’s…” She gasps a little, and Joe feels the urge to- to do _something_ to comfort her, but she recovers quickly. “Now he’s in that operating room, after you made him think he was a _nuisance_ to you, and I’d rather my baby hurt all that he has to at once, so if you’re not looking for a serious relationship with him, I think it best if you just aren’t here when he wakes up.”

She stands, graceful if a little unsteady, and goes back to wait near the doors. Joe remains where he is. He needs some air, some time to think, weigh out all the options, but an obstinate part of him refuses to let him move away from here, a few doors from where Mustafa is lying on an operating table.

His phone vibrates with a text. It’s Paige. _‘found. bex and fin otw to retrieve pkg.’_

They have the mugger. He can't even summon his usual irritation at the text-speak. Joe starts typing _‘I’ll be there immediately_ ’ and stops, deletes the last word. He changes it to _‘I’ll be there after Mustafa’s awake.’_

Then he puts his phone aside. He will stay, Finn’s warnings be damned.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with awkward revelations and angry confrontations.

_This isn’t my bed._ That is the first thought that pops into Mustafa’s mind, and the second one is _Why am I in pain?_

“I think he’s awake,” a familiar voice remarks softly.

His eyes fluttering open, Mustafa registers a blurry shadow beside him, and more at his bed. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool but his body is both numb and in pain. He’s parched and it’s difficult to move. “Zee? Is that you?”

It is his sister, Zenab. She leans down and kisses his forehead. Instead of perfume, she smells of talcum powder and milk. Mustafa frowns and asks, “Are the babies here too?”

“No, silly, I left the kids at home. Faizal will look after them.” She sits down and pats his hand. There is a tube coming out from the crook of his arm; he wants it out of him, but can’t summon the energy to pull on it. 

Behind her, Celina looks concerned, her lips drawn into a tight, tense line. “You remember anything, Moose?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” he mutters. “Pecans. Not enough pecans.”

There’s a quiet snort of laughter on his other side. Mustafa squints and sees Cedric, who is shaking his head in disbelief, but he’s smiling widely. “Of all things to remember. I’ll tell Kofi when I drop by.”

Mustafa’s brow creases. “Am I in hospital? Why am I…?” 

“You were shot, my boy.” It’s Mama’s turn to speak. Cedric shifts aside to let her come forward and perch on the edge of Mustafa’s bed. She’s so tiny, Mustafa marvels. Mama smiles, though her eyes seem to grow more damp. “Yes, I am tiny, ’Stafa dear. So you have to get better fast and take care of me.”

“Course I will,” he murmurs, and then he frowns even more deeply. “Was I shot, Mama? I think I was shot.” Sniffing, he adds, “It hurts, Mama, make it stop hurting.”

“My darling boy,” Mama whispers, her voice cracking a little, and pets his head. Mustafa feels a vague sense of anger at whatever idiot has upset her. No one should ever make Mama cry.

“He’s still woozy from the anesthesia,” Zenab tells the other three, her green hijab a soothing patch of color in a dull, beige world. Mustafa can barely keep his eyes open. “We should let him sleep.”

Cedric steps up to grasp Mustafa’s shoulder, almost gingerly. “I’ll let the nurse know that you’re hurting, Stafa. Don’t move too much.”

“Where’s Daddy?” Mustafa asks. He reaches for his best friend and groans when his midsection seems to burn like acid and fire. “I want Daddy here.”

“Dad’s in Pakistan, Moose,” said Zenab, her voice soothing. “I’ll call them to tell them you’re okay-”

“No, not _Dad_ , I don’t want Dad, I want Daddy,” Mustafa whines, although his eyelids are getting ever heavier. “I want... Ced, where is Daddy, you _know_ him...”

Dead silence falls over the group. Then Cedric groans and covers his face with his hands.

“Oh my god,” he mutters. “I did _not_ need to know your pet name for your boyfriend, holy fuck. Sorry, Mama.” 

Then Zenab starts giggling and Celina chuckles. It’s a sound Mustafa has missed for _ages_. He can’t believe he used to think their laughing together annoying. Zenab kisses her brother’s forehead again and says, “He’s outside. Only four visitors at a time. I’ll go get him.” 

“Come on, Ced. Mama, we ought to get you home, you’ve been out all day.”

As they leave, Mama lingering the longest to hold his hand, Mustafa overhears something like _“boyfriend?”_ and a grumble about _“Daddy? Really?”_ and _“how do I forget what I heard?”_ which has to be from Cedric. It’s silly for Cedric to say that, because Joe _is_ Daddy, he takes care of Mustafa, makes sure everything is okay. It’s important to remember that.

The door opens again and Joe walks in, the shadows under his eyes a little deeper than earlier. Mustafa thinks he looks very handsome with the new haircut.

“Thank you, baby, that’s kind of you to say,” Joe replies, and Mustafa is confused. The big man kisses him on the brow with immense tenderness. “You said that thought aloud. I’m glad you’re awake now. How do you feel?”

He was _shot_ and it _hurts_ , that’s how he feels; it’s silly of Joe to ask.

A snort sounds through the small hospital room. “That’s fair,” Joe chuckles - and _wow_ , Mustafa has never really thought of how much he loves that sound, that deep rumble. Joe has a soft smile on his face as he stares down at Mustafa - only, it looks a little sad, doesn’t reach his eyes in the way it does when Mustafa makes him laugh with tales of his and Cedric’s antics from their shared prom night, through their academy days and- Mustafa doesn’t know what he’s done, except-

_Oh._

“You were angry at me,” he rasps out.

Joe frowns and reaches over, returning with a styrofoam cup and a straw; the cold water feels like bliss going down. He's not allowed much, though, and he whines when Joe takes the cup and water away. “For this?” he questions, his free hand gesturing to Mustafa’s middle, to the bare and bandaged skin.

Nodding makes Mustafa's head hurt, forces him to close his eyes. “You left me alone.”

The older man says nothing for a few moments, the silence in the room a gentle presence. Mustafa frowns, opening his eyes, and Joe’s expression is - _stricken_. He sits next to Mustafa and leans in, their foreheads touching, before Joe murmurs, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m here now.” He kisses Mustafa lightly on the lips. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk more later.”

 _Daddy's here,_ Mustafa thinks with satisfaction, and lets out a breath he didn't know he's been holding, before he sinks back down into sleep.

***

Ember thrusts a black folder into Roman’s broad chest when he shows up in the morning. “You better thank me for putting this binder on Christmas duty together. Enjoy the holiday bonus, new guy.”

“Why do I have the sense that the bonus is not nearly enough compensation for whatever Christmas duty is?” Roman asks. The binder was crammed full of notes, all neatly indexed.

Ember grins. “Get your cute butt to the tailor’s after lunch to get your monkey suit. I’ll cover your shift. Read the folder, and seriously, _pray_ that the weather turns so bad that all flights are grounded.”

The tall Samoan watches his co-worker stride away, and feels a growing sense of unease as he flicks through the pages in the folder. There is a whole section on Breeze's family, along with the family's acquaintances, and a list of the nearest hospitals and emergency services. There's even an addendum of duties listed for Roman, the first of which is to go through Breeze's luggage thoroughly when they arrive to make sure there are no recreational drugs of any sort in there, and goes on to detail what to do if he has access to sharp objects "following a stressful incident". At no point on this trip is Breeze to be left entirely alone; even showering or bathing, Roman will have to be near the door, with the door ajar by a minimum of two inches.

_Good Christ. He must be really messed up. No wonder the company insisted on my getting first aid certification._

He gets a text from Ember. _‘Breeze wants to see you. He’s at the pool.’_ He puts the folder away and hurries to the pool, where he finds Tyler Breeze in a bathrobe kissing Finn lazily, while the socialite is holding Prince Pretty who is snarling at the Irishman. 

(It’s no longer surprising for Roman to see Finn Balor sauntering about in Breeze’s home. When he told Seth about the intimacy between Finn and Breeze, Seth only smiled and said, “I’m glad Tyler’s looking after him.” Roman doesn’t understand what is going on among the three of them.) 

“Have a good trip, gorgeous,” Finn tells Breeze. He’s again in all black, though he’s left the top two buttons of his shirt free, showing off his neck and collarbone, which bore a few purplish-pink marks. (For some reason, Roman feels his face go hot and he averts his gaze quickly.) “Call me if you need someone to talk to, okay? Or text me, that’s good too.”

Breeze kisses the older man again, murmuring something into his ear, and they part, Finn to the front door (after a nod at Roman) and Breeze to one of the deck chairs. He waves Roman over and puts his chihuahua next to himself, motioning for the Samoan to take a seat opposite him.

“Ember said you’re taking Christmas duty,” the blond man says with a small, ironic smile. “I’m sorry for taking away your time with your family. If I had any other option, I’d prefer not to go to mine.”

“Uh, it’s alright.” Roman doesn’t know how to respond to an apology he wasn’t expecting. “My daughter will be with her mom and I was home for Thanksgiving, so I’m not expected anywhere.”

“Nevertheless, I wish you didn’t have to come with me,” Breeze continues. “Now, word to the wise: ignore everything my family and their acquaintances say to you or around you. They think they’re _civilized people_ but they are racist, classist bigots, except for a rare few. If it should get too much for you, let me know, and we’ll go for a walk or a ride around the estate, away from them.” He sighs and pets Prince Pretty. “I know Ember put together a binder on what to do in case I... in case of emergency. Follow her instructions. I only ask that, if I should need medical attention, you drive me personally to the hospital listed in the binder and not call an ambulance. My father and brother would love nothing better than an excuse to institutionalize me.”

Roman blinks in astonishment. He tries to find the right words to that. “I’m sure they’re not-”

“They are.” The small, almost resigned smile on Breeze’s face reveal a terrible loneliness, but that moment of vulnerability is quickly veneered over with a casual shrug. He reaches across and pats the Samoan man on the knee. “I’m counting on you to get me back home alive and relatively sane.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr Breeze,” says Roman. _It can’t be_ that _bad, can it? He must be exaggerating. Probably didn’t get a third convertible when he wanted it or something._

“Thank you.” Breeze goes to the edge of the pool before he drops his robe and dives in. Roman has to grab Prince Pretty to keep the tiny chihuahua from jumping in after its owner. The dog wags its tail vigorously and licks Roman’s face. For some reason, Prince Pretty has taken to following Roman around when he is working. The chihuahua is, objectively speaking, completely hideous, but Roman loves its stumpy tail, its bulging eyes that stare in different directions, and its squeaky yap when it hears Breeze’s voice.

It’s hot, even in the shade; Roman thinks longingly of air-conditioning, but contents himself with getting two bottles of water from the fridge, one for himself, taking the other one outside for the socialite. (Ember and Chad both assured him that Breeze doesn’t mind his security team helping themselves to his food and drinks, as long as they don’t get greedy or unprofessional about it.) Eventually Prince Pretty relaxes, its head resting on Roman’s bicep. When Breeze resurfaces after twelve laps and climbs up, the Samoan is shocked by the extensive bruising over the other man’s limbs.

“What the hell did Finn do to you?” Roman blurts out. “Do I need to call the police?”

Breeze shoots him a sharp glare. “What are you talking about?” When Roman gestures to the marks on his skin, the blond snorts and walks over to sit on the deck chair he occupied earlier.

Prince Pretty jumps down from Roman’s lap, its large ears perked up, and trots over to its master. Breeze glances at his dog, a fond little smile crossing his face, but the expression fades when he looks at Roman again.

“I am going to say this just once.” Breeze leans forward, his voice low. “What happens in my relationship with Finn is none of your business.”

“If you’re physically harmed, then it _is_ ,” Roman rebuts. It's in his contract, in fact; E&C Personal Security is very specific in what the services provided.

“God spare me all you high-and-mighty moralizing vanilla idiots,” Breeze says. The many bruises look _terrifying_ ; whatever Finn has done, he has not done it with any tenderness or restraint. Breeze exhales forcefully and rises to his feet, towel draped over his shoulders, and heads for the house. “You know nothing about trust.”

“I know you’re not supposed to hurt the people who trust you,” Roman protests, rising to his feet. “If this is what he does then I am glad that I convinced Seth to leave him.”

***

Tyler stops in his tracks when he hears that. He whirls around and stalks back to his new security guy. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re not supposed to hurt the-”

“Not that,” Tyler cuts him off. “You _convinced_ Seth to leave Finn? What did you tell him?” He doesn’t even realize that he’s gripping Roman by his collar until the large man disengages Tyler’s hand firmly from the shirt. 

Roman tilts his head. “Mr Breeze, I gave Seth nothing but the truth.”

Tyler isn’t going to be this easily dismissed. “Which version? The one where he was practically a warlord in Tokyo’s underworld or the one where he’s reformed and gave up all the power?” He steps closer, not at all intimidated by the Samoan’s bulk. Prince Pretty is circling their legs, tail wagging slowly, unsure of what is going on. “The Finn who held secrets and connections that damn near everyone would kill for, or the Finn who opened his home and heart to a frightened and abused submissive?”

“I don’t want Seth put in danger because of Finn’s past.”

“So you pry him away from the one man who could - and did - get Seth away from Hunter?” Tyler nearly shouts, but he manages to calm down a little. “Seth - the Seth that I met at first - was so frightened that he didn’t dare admit he was hungry. When Finn or Joe even came within two feet of him, he _flinched_. That Seth was _thankful_ to me for holding his hands.” Tears spring to Tyler’s eyes, all the stress of worry over Finn and Seth’s relationship, all the pain he’s been hiding from seeing his dom a shadow of himself bubbling to the surface. “Finn... Finn loves him. They love each other, they love each other so much, and Finn would protect Seth _with his life,_ and I cannot see how you could _possibly_ justify breaking them up.”

To the socialite’s surprise, Roman doesn’t have a response to that. Tyler inhales sharply and licks his mouth; Prince Pretty is whining with distress because Tyler is upset. There is a hint of guilt in the tall man’s direct gaze.

“When we’re back from this bloody Christmas party,” Tyler tells him, “I will ask for you to be transferred.” He storms away, Prince Pretty at his heels. If only there’s something Tyler can do to persuade Seth, but he knows just how bad Finn’s history can appear to the uninitiated. The Irishman did earn his moniker of _Demon Prince of Tokyo_ with other people’s blood and tears (not that Tyler likes to think about it). There isn’t enough time for him to come up with an idea, and frankly he doesn't have the slightest clue where to begin. (Daddy Joe is preoccupied with Mustafa, who’s been shot; Tyler’s sent flowers with a card, and made sure there won’t be any hospital bills to trouble the cop.) He has the annual torture known as his family’s Christmas to brace himself for. 

***

Joe stays longer than he means, there when Mustafa wakes for his meal (a simple serving of bland soup that makes Joe snarl and applesauce), groggy and mostly incoherent on the pain medication sliding into his veins through the IV drip connected to the back of his hand, and then when Cedric makes his way back into the room.

The young cop’s eyebrow shoots up. “Well.”

Eyes narrowing, Joe tips his head. “Well.”

Cedric’s lips purse - he looks like he’s fighting back a grimace - and he makes his way around the hospital bed, opposite Joe, taking the second armchair, a little scowl appearing as he tries to settle comfortably; Joe’s eye twitches.

“You better go home and grab a shower or a nap,” Cedric says, not looking at Joe. “Dana and the others are gonna be here soon. Doubt you want to make small talk with a bunch of cops.”

While that is true, Joe doesn’t like feeling indebted in any way to Cedric. However, he has to deal with the man who hurt his Mustafa, and the sooner that's done the better. (Paige and Becky can watch the guy for only so long, and Finn doesn't want to bring his own people in to work on this particular task.) He stands, wincing slightly at the twinge in his lower back, and says, “One of the nurses commented that you were cute. Her name’s Helen.” As he goes to the door, he says, almost offhandedly, “I didn’t think hospitals would employ visually-impaired people as nurses. Guess I’ve learned something.”

***

The basement smells worse of mold and water damage than it used to. Makes sense: Joe hasn’t used this place for more than a year. He’s surprised that the building is still standing, given its state, but then again it isn’t as if urban renewal gives a shit about rundown warehouses on the outskirts of the city.

He’s standing next to Becky, watching Finn work. The Irishman is seated in front of their captive who is tied to a chair, and rifles through his wallet with a gloved hand. He digs out a driver’s license and reads it aloud. “Dolph Ziggler. You’re new to the city?”

“Who the hell are you guys?”

Finn backhands him casually. “Look around,” he says calmly. “You’re the one at our mercy. Answer the fucking question.” His voice never once rises; it’s as if he’s having polite conversation over breakfast.

“Been here six years. What’s it to you?” He has a nasal voice, probably because Becky broke it. Dried blood still coats the man's jutting chin. “Who the fuck are you?”

Finn sighs and tosses the wallet at Becky, who passes it to Joe. “See, that means you’re really bad at being a criminal. Because if you were any good at it, you’d already know who we are.” He stands and kicks the chair aside. “You’re a lucky bastard though. The cop you shot? He didn’t die.”

Joe has to fight down the instinct to snarl. If Mustafa had died... As if aware of his thoughts, Becky puts a cool hand on Joe’s arm. _Easy there, boss man_ , he can almost hear her say. He must be truly unsettled for her to calm him down.

Finn doesn’t glance in their direction. “So here’s the thing. Because he’s not dead, you get a choice. Option one: go to the cops and confess that you shot a policeman.”

“You’re fucking _insane._ You know what they do to guys who shoot cops?”

“Option two,” Finn continues, adjusting his leather jacket, as if Ziggler hasn’t spoken, “is for you to never see a cop again in your life.”

The blond guy squints at Finn. “You kidding, right?”

“Not at all,” says the Irishman with the barest hint of a smile. “Those are your two options.”

 _Tricky bastard._ Joe has to tamp down the vicious satisfaction rising in him. He doesn’t get to see Finn negotiate all that often, so this is a treat for him; back in the bad old days of Tokyo, Finn Balor navigated the tricky politics of yakuza families as a  _gaijin_ , winning friends and the trust of some of the most suspicious bastards to walk the planet. The Prince of Tokyo knows how to work his charm and the power of words.

The blond Ziggler guy tosses his long hair back, cocksure now. Becky snorts; she’s caught on to what Finn is offering too. Ziggler says, “Option two, of course. I don't ever wanna see a cop again.”

Finn shrugs. “Alright then.” He walks away from him and pauses right next to Joe, his back to their captive. “What would you like?” he murmurs, as if offering a selection of snacks.

There is a range of implements just outside the door, from tire iron to shovel, along with the equipment they are going to need later.

“Baseball bat is good,” says Joe. “Red?”

“Have at it, boss.” Becky beams, eyes gleaming. “I just wanna watch.”

Joe pulls on his own leather gloves and takes the baseball bat Finn offers him. It’s solid wood, its weight comforting. As the big Samoan heads towards the tied-up man, Ziggler seems to realize what about to happen. He starts scrambling backwards, the chair’s legs screeching as he moves, but suddenly he overbalances and crashes to the filthy floor. “Please! I’m sorry, I’ll confess to the shooting, sorry, sorry I’m sorry, it was an _accident,_ it’s Christmas, please I didn’t mean to please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry-”

Without a word, Joe raises the bat.

With a wickedly delighted grin, Becky sings out, “Batter up!” 

Joe swings.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with a phone call, and Tyler goes home.

After Finn ends his phone call with Jericho, he sits back and looks out of his office window. The view is stunning, and yet he feels absolutely empty. He’s not _bored_  per se, he’s just _there_ , existing, having absolutely no purpose. Now that Joe has dispatched of the mugger, Finn has nothing to do. Joe has returned to watch over Mustafa and is certainly not in any state of mind to give good advice.

(It was cathartic to watch Joe beat the mugger into a pulp with a baseball bat. In the early days of their liaison, Finn would have jumped Joe once he was done brutalizing the idiot; instead, he had kissed the big man and told him to go back to his boyfriend after a shower, and then helped Becky dispose of the body.) 

He thinks of visiting Tyler, but dismisses the idea just as instantly. The younger man is already stressed with his trip back to see his family; Finn isn’t going to burden his precious brat with troubles that aren’t his own. As for his clients, everyone is either preparing for their own Christmas or avoiding the season entirely by flying overseas for holidays. Sasha and Bayley are already somewhere in Hawaii, having flown off this morning.

He can’t even summon a tendril of fear over the potential backlash Jericho’s laid out for him if he goes through with his plan.

(“There are less risky ways than this,” the lawyer said earlier during their phone call. “Ways that don’t lead back to you. Or more importantly, back to _me_. They'll come after the immediate suspects and that'd be us.”

“Let them come.”

Jericho had sounded frustrated. “At least wait until after the New Year? Please? I need time to map out a strategy.”)

 _Ennui_. That’s the word he’s been trying to recall. He's never quite got the hang of French, but some words stick in the mind. Finn taps his fingers on his desk. If he does go through with his plan, then he’s not going to have this view for much longer.

He may not have any view at all. Or eyes to view it with.

His phone buzzes. Finn doesn’t bother looking at the number when he answers. “Chris, I already told you, I’m ready for whatever hell comes my way.”

_“Uh... Hey.”_

It’s not Jericho. Finn nearly bolts to his feet, his heart racing. “Seth?”

 _“Hi.”_ The other man sounds hesitant. _“Is it, uh, is it a good time? I-I can call back."_

“It’s a good time, it’s a- It’s good.” The Irishman has to cover his mouth, catch his breath. It’s just a phone call. It is just- “Seth. Hey. Hi.”

 _“Hey,”_ says Seth again, and now he sounds like he’s smiling. _“I just wanted to, um, I-I just wanted to wish you happy holidays.”_

Finn almost laughs. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he says, eyes filling up with tears. It’s ridiculous. He’s thirty-five years old, he’s a professional dom, he used to handle crime lords and world leaders; he shouldn’t be crying over something as trivial as a phone call, his knees shouldn’t feel weak, his hands shouldn’t be clenching. 

He hasn’t heard Seth’s voice for _so long_. He’s been keeping his promise of giving the younger man space and time. Bayley’s visited Seth, and given Finn updates, but that’s all Finn has allowed himself - doing penance for having tried to use physical force on the man he loves, for having _scared_ him. On the few nights when he falls asleep before the drink takes him, he sees sweet brown eyes wide with fear, hears Seth’s strangled cry of _“Penthouse!”_. He's been making do with a few photos of Seth, trying to pretend he isn’t terrified that Seth will disappear without a trace, trying to pretend he isn’t afraid that he’ll forget the sound of Seth’s voice or the softness in those doe eyes.

(He wonders if Seth is feeling a gamut of emotions too, hearing his voice.)

“How are you?” he manages to ask. His heart is racing wildly. “How are you spending the holidays?” He carefully doesn’t ask: _Do you have plans? Do you want to meet up?_ _Do you want to come home?_

 _“I’m okay,”_ Seth replies quietly. _“Roman’s gonna be away with Tyler for the rest of the week, and Mick is playing Santa at some hospitals, so I’m... I’m kinda alone for the holidays. But it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”_ When he pauses, Finn has to swallow down his immediate fear that Seth is going to hang up. The younger man goes on: _“I’m gonna start a new job in the new year. There’s a local renovation firm, they need someone to do drawings and all that. The previous draftsman had a mild stroke.”_ He goes on to talk about the firm, the bosses, what he’s supposed to do; Finn hangs on to every syllable, hoarding the sound of Seth’s voice.

 _“Oh, um. Sorry. I didn’t mean to digress, sorry. I-I actually have a gift for you,”_ Seth stammers. _“I was wondering if, if you’d like to meet up. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I can, um, I can leave it at the reception, or, you know. Leave it at the Playroom. If you’re too busy.”_

Finn’s heart skips. “Sweetheart, nothing is more important than you,” he says. He can’t stop smiling. “Where do you want to meet? When?”  _Do you want to come home?_

There is another pause, before Seth suggests a cafe not too far from the penthouse, on the 23rd. It’s where they used to go for lunch after their morning workouts. Finn agrees without hesitation. He doesn’t want to end the call.

“Do you...” Finn bites the side of his tongue. “I’m worried since you’re gonna be alone. Is that- Will you be okay?” _Do you want to come home?_

 _“I hope so,”_ Seth admits. _“I gotta learn to sleep alone somehow. Ro’s been really nice, letting me share his bed-”_ (Jealous anger stabs into Finn, an unexpected reaction.) _“-but I know I should try to sleep on my own.”_ There’s a soft chuckle. _“Don’t worry, Finn, Ro and I aren’t, um. He... he doesn’t see me that way.”_

“But you want him to?” Finn asks. (He’s not worried. He’s not jealous. He’s _not_. He just wants to make sure.) His hand tightens around his phone.

 _“I’ve had a crush on him since I was a kid,”_ Seth tells him honestly. _“I’m not going to seduce him or anything, but, you know. The desire is there. But nothing has happened, and nothing will happen.”_

Finn has to swallow the venom in his throat. Seth has the right to feel what he feels, and Finn doesn’t have the right to restrict Seth from feeling anything; Seth is his own person.

( _How dare Roman,_ his mind hisses. _How dare he rip Seth from you and try to usurp your rightful place? You should_ destroy _him, the way he’s destroyed you.)_

Seth knows nothing of Finn’s inner monologue. _“So, uh, I’ll see you on the 23rd?”_

“Wait.” Finn bites the inside of his cheek. “Seth, I-I know you know about the arrangement I made for Hunter and the... and the men in Texas. And I’m trying to fix it, but I need your input on one very important aspect. So, if it’s alright, if _you’re_ okay with it, can you come over to the penthouse on the 23rd instead? It’s not something I want to discuss in public.”

_I miss seeing you here. I miss your little messes in the kitchen sink, I miss you sitting and reading in the corners, I miss the long strands of hair I find on the pillow. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you._

_Do you want to come home?_

He holds his breath and waits for Seth to answer. It feels like a long wait before the younger man replies _of course_ in a subdued tone, but Finn smiles with relief. “Thank you, Seth.”

 _“See you, Finn. Merry Christmas.”_ Another pause. _“I love you.”_ And the line goes dead instantly, as if Seth didn’t expect those last three words to escape him and is scared to know how Finn will react.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Finn says to the dead connection, squeezing his eyes shut as something tightens around his heart.  _Please come home to me._

***

It’s not the first time Roman has taken a private jet, but it is the first time he feels like he’s escorting a man on death row to his execution. Tyler Breeze is anything but breezy and light from the moment they set out from his home; his glum mood seems to darken the closer they get to Hanover County, Virginia. His sunglasses never leave his face. Every now and then, the socialite presses his fingers on a specific part of his right thigh.

“Remember, it’s Mr Briesman for the duration of your stay,” Ember had reminded Roman before he got into the car back in Los Angeles. “And stick close to him. He’ll need you.”

Roman wishes he had someone to stick close to _him_. Obviously, he already knows that the estate is massive, with acres and acres of open space and forested patches and tennis courts and two pools and three guest houses... But seeing it is another story entirely. Roman grew up in suburbia, and is now a city boy; this is way too much open space for him. There are _horses_ , for crying out loud; he spies them walking about in a fenced off area as the family car glides down the seemingly-endless road to a massive colonial-style mansion of white and gray.

“All of it's for show,” Breeze mutters when Roman stares out the car’s window at a peacock strutting about on a sunny lawn, despite the chilly bite to the air. (A goddamn _peacock._ What the hell?) Breeze doesn’t look at Roman though; the socialite has barely glanced at him since that confrontation (scolding) at the pool. “My family hardly steps outside the house other than for a game of tennis.”

“The horses?”

“Racehorse breeding. My brother hates animals but he likes the money, so it’s perfect for him. He doesn’t care about selling or putting them down as needed.” Though Breeze says it with a casual air, Roman can hear the edge of disgust and sadness in his tone. "We're reaching the house soon."

The 'house' is an elegant colonial-style mansion, and appears far too much house for _anyone_. Roman shifts in his seat, suddenly self-conscious, his eyes darting down to check his shoes for mud, to see if his pants really survived the flight with minimal creasing. Then the car stops and a man springs forward to open the door for Breeze, who slides out without a 'thank-you'. (Roman opens his own door.)

There are servants in starched uniforms at the entrance. There is an _actual butler_ , who chivies someone to get their luggage, despite Roman trying to dissuade them. Breeze ignores all of them and heads straight up the stairs. Giving up the debate with the butler, Roman follows his charge all the way to the third floor, where there is a room - no, an _entire suite_ of rooms waiting for them. Roman can feel his metaphorical jaw drop. Every piece of furniture seems to be an antique, and there are oil paintings in gilded frames on the walls. French windows on the far walls flood the suite with light. It's all very much like a set from some BBC drama about French monarchs.

“Check the suite and remove all sharp implements,” the blond orders as he shucks off his navy coat and unlaces his boots. It is warm now that they're inside. “That includes pens, by the way.” The suitcases are brought in - five of them, only one of which is Roman’s - and the socialite barely glances at them. “Go through the luggage too.”

“It’s only been two minutes-”

“It isn’t a suggestion, Reigns. The suite, and then the luggage. Keep my meds on you; remember I'm not to take any until after 11p.m.. I’m going to take a bath.” Breeze stretches with a groan. “Ugh. And make an appointment with my chiropractor as well as masseuse. I’m gonna need a deep tissue massage once we get home.”

Roman wants to say _I’m not your personal assistant_ , and then recalls that Tyler Breeze doesn’t like the sound of phones ringing, which is why he delegates making phone calls to his team. The Samoan wonders why; a ringing phone is hardly the worst thing to hear. Nevertheless, he makes the two appointments as he sweeps the suite for sharp-edged or pointy objects, while Breeze’s singing floats out of the bathroom. The socialite’s voice isn’t the most melodious, but it is pleasant enough. It’s not until Roman is going through their respective suitcases that he realizes why Breeze is singing - to let Roman know that he is alright - and that the door to the bathroom isn’t shut.

Roman is putting away the suitcases in the nearest empty closet when the blond emerges from the bathroom, skin glowing pink and damp, with only a towel slung around his hips.

“You done?” Breeze asks.

“Yeah, most of it. Couple of scissors in the desk over there as well as three pens.” Roman is digging through his own luggage, toothpaste in one hand as he searches for his toothbrush.

“That’s good. Eddie must have been too busy to pop by before today.” Breeze lets the towel drop. 

Roman nearly squeezes the toothpaste when he catches sight of Breeze’s nudity. He’s seen other guys naked before, of course, but this is  _Tyler Breeze_. Surely Breeze doesn’t just drop trou whenever he wants, does he? (Should he ask Ember? But even if Breeze does strip in front of other men, he probably won’t do that in front of a woman. Roman isn’t friendly enough with Gable yet to ask something like this.) And then he notices the bruising on the socialite’s ass. Deep bluish-purple bruises edged with a yellowish-green hue are spread over both pert cheeks of his shapely behind.

Breeze doesn’t notice Roman’s covert scrutiny as he rummages in his suitcase and pulls out a pair of black briefs that he tugs on. “You’ve made my appointments?”

“Yes I did, Mr Briesman.”

Tyler Breeze makes a disgusted little sound. “Ember told you to call me that, didn’t she?”

“Yes she did.”

“Little bitch,” Breeze says fondly. He sighs and says, “Use that name when in company. When it’s just us, then Tyler will do. Or Breeze, if you don’t think it’s appropriate to use my first name.” He walks away with a jar in hand, clad only in his underwear, muttering something about _body moisturizer_. "Oh, your bed and bathroom is next to mine, but if you feel concerned about my state of mind, feel free to bunk on the sofa in my room. It's very comfy and soft too - I picked it out myself. Hartford knows to store it when I'm away so it's not been discarded."

Roman has to tear his eyes away from Tyler Breeze’s (very perky) butt, feeling a vague sense of anger at Finn for hurting the socialite. _It’s none of my business,_ he reminds himself. Then he pauses.  _I have a room_ and _a bathroom to myself?_

***

 _‘rmbr to text or call every morn n just 2 drinks at the xmas party. <3 u pet’ _Finn’s concern bleeds through his terse message. Tyler replies in the affirmative. Three nights. He can get through three nights. Putting away his phone, he motions to Reigns to follow him. The man won't be eating at the table, of course; he's going to remain just outside the room, while Tyler endures the first evening of family togetherness. Tomorrow the Christmas Eve dinner with the extended family, and then the grand party, and then he can return to Hollywood and ignore all of them for another year.

Nothing about the house has changed. The florid wallpaper, the ornate furniture, the gilded opulence... He misses his mid-century bachelor pad in the hills. He doesn’t _belong_ here, he hasn’t belonged here once he knew he didn’t like girls the way he’s supposed to, the way Eddie did. Father doesn't deign to look him in the eye, which suits Tyler fine. Mother is as elegant and refined as a marble statue, and just as warm. She accepts his tentative hug with some grace, and pretends that Reigns isn't being shown to a chair outside the dining room by the butler.

"How have you been, Tyler?" she asks, with the air of detached courtesy that she uses with all of Father's business associates. 

"Well enough, Mother. I'm going to have to return to Hollywood immediately after the party. My manager is having conniptions at my being away so close to the launch of my brand."

She hums, a vague acknowledgment. "So long as you're happy, my dear." 

Tyler goes to his seat, far from his disapproving father, and wishes he had the guts to leave and never return.

But just as he thinks he can muster up the resolve, here comes _Eddie_ , blond and tall and handsome Edward Noah Briesman, perfect son and heir to the massive Briesman empire. Tyler fights the urge to duck out of sight. At least Reigns is nearby, so he has an escape route if needed. Eddie tosses his coat at the butler and walks jauntily into the dining room to kiss his mother on the cheek and hug his father.

“Tyler, you’re here early,” Eddie says with a charming smile when he sees him, patting him on the cheek in mock affection. Tyler wants to cringe but holds still. He will never show his soft belly to Eddie again. “Can’t wait for our annual family gathering, hmm?”

“I have it marked on my personal calendar at the start of every year,” Tyler replies. (It’s marked with a skull drawn on it in red sharpie.) "Where is everyone else?"

The rest of Eddie’s picture-perfect family appears as though summoned. The children put on a smile for Tyler, his nephews murmuring _“hi Uncle Tyler”_ , all three of them strangers to him but taught to be polite anyway, and take their seats at the table, across from Tyler. His sister-in-law nods at him, expressionless as always. Tyler doesn't know what she thinks of anyone; the woman is as inscrutable as a plastic mannequin.

 _No wonder Eddie married her,_ Tyler thinks cattily. (If Finn had heard him say that, he would've chided Tyler for being petty. Daddy would have smacked the back of his head and tell him not to be bitchy. He misses them both so much, he _aches_.)

Dinner is a terse affair dominated by Eddie and their father. Nothing new there. Talks of mergers and acquisitions, of the Euro versus the British pound, of Abe’s policies in Japan and Xi’s increasing chokehold on Chinese businesses... Tyler knows better than to interject with his personal commentary. The first twenty years of his life, trying (and failing) to emulate Eddie, have taught him that neither his father nor his brother will ever appreciate him. It had taken Paris and that exchange program for Tyler to decide, one reckless evening, not to hide what he thought or who he was. And that had landed him sweet Clement, with his dark curls and constellations of freckles, tasting of Moscato and _liberté_ , laughing as he showed innocent, inexperienced Tyler how two men can find pleasure in each other.

 _Qui n’avance pas, recule_ , as they say, and he has progressed a lot since then.

“And I suppose you’re still seeing that dancer?” Eddie asks, leaning forwards, looking entirely too innocent to be anything but armed with the truth of Tyler’s public humiliation. "I mean, you did get him the role in that new movie, didn't you?"

Tyler refuses to play the game. “Fandango auditioned and won the role on his own merits. No, we broke up some time ago.” He sips his water, trying to make sure his face doesn’t turn pink as it does whenever he talks about his relationships at home.

"Well," says Eddie, genial and cutting at the same time, "guess he thought having you on his arm wouldn't make for good career growth."

As expected, his father doesn’t even breathe in his general direction. “I suppose I should congratulate him on his good sense, leaving you as soon as you’ve become a liability.”

It hurts, it _always_ hurts, and Tyler hasn't ever grown the good sense not to let his father's disapproval sting. He holds his tongue and eats the poached cod in silence, wishing with all his heart that Christmas can be over.

***

Roman doesn't mean to overhear the conversation but Breeze's father and brother don't bother to be discreet. He can't help feeling sorry for the socialite. It also bothers Roman that no one else speaks up for the blond. He does notice the butler's jaw tensing and the flare of his nostrils. When the latter sees Roman looking, he issues a brief smile and a subtle shake of his head.

For the rest of the meal, Breeze says nothing at all. After dinner, the socialite retreats to the den in his private suite and starts playing a loud video game, his eyes red-rimmed and dull. "Go take a shower, I'll be okay," he tells Roman. "I'll ring Hartford and get dinner sent up."

Hartford turns out to be the butler, and Roman thanks him awkwardly for the meal. The butler peers in, trying to look into the den. "How is Master Tyler?"

"Mr Briesman is alright. He just needs to rest. It's been a very hectic week." Though he wants to be polite, Roman doesn't know if Breeze trusts Hartford, and it is always better to err on the side of discretion.

Breeze comes out from the den and then breaks into a wide smile when he sees the butler. "Hartford, I'm glad you're well. This is Roman, as you know." 

"I'm glad you're well too, Master Tyler." Hartford doesn't hug Breeze, as Roman half-expected, but he does shake the young man's hand with both of his own. 

Breeze shoos Roman away to have his dinner. The Samoan bodyguard sits where he can see and hear whatever is going on at the door, and overhears Breeze saying something about a trip into town in the morning.

"Of course, Master Tyler. Would you need Virgil to drive you?"

"No, Roman will drive. What's the new security code?"

Hartford whispers in Breeze's ear, and then takes his leave. Breeze saunters over to Roman and sits facing him. "Tomorrow we go Christmas shopping for the family," he tells Roman. 

"It'll be the 23rd."

"So?"

"I'm not sure if you'll be able to find what you want to buy," Roman points out. "And some shops may have closed for the Christmas holidays."

Breeze raises an eyebrow sardonically. "Darling, I'm _Tyler Breeze._ They will open for me if they know what’s good for them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qui n’avance pas, recule - What doesn't move forward, recedes


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the early Christmas gift, and Joe being a grump.

Seth is still smiling, hours after he called Finn. Roman has texted him and sent him a selfie with Tyler’s childhood home in the background and Seth was duly impressed. On the other hand, Tyler sent a separate photo looking bored and almost haggard, captioning it with _“I’d rather be in hell”_. Seth sent a snap of himself in the little convenience store, holding up a candy bar (the same type Tyler ate the one time he visited) and captioning it " _maybe snickers can help?”_. That seemed to have cheered Tyler up - he replied with a flurry of emojis - Christmas tree, snowman, presents, eggplant, winking face.

Mick has just come back from UCLA Mattel Children’s Hospital, and will wake bright and early to head to another three in East Hollywood before going to Skid Row. He’s pasted his route on the wall by the counter, and for the past couple of weeks, long-time customers have dropped off toys, books and games for the children. Most of the donations are new or almost new. Seth thinks it’s very sweet of Mick, and he was sorry to give his notice. (Mick only grinned, showing off the gap in his teeth, and clapped the young man on the back. “Come visit,” he told Seth, who promised that he will.)

There aren’t a lot of customers today, however. Most will be busy with their families already or have flown out of LA. Seth feels a little guilty that he isn’t going back to his parents’ place, but he doesn’t want to see them. It is strange that they are family, but he and they may as well be strangers. _I really should at least email them or something,_ he thinks, and resolves to try to repair whatever is left of his relationship with his family after New Year’s.

Mick has told him to close up around midnight; there’s no point keeping open when their regulars aren’t likely to come in. They’ll be closed through Christmas Eve and Christmas too, so Seth has already bought an armful of sketchbooks and old magazines to occupy himself for those two days. He’s locking up the storeroom and thinking about sketching Fallingwater again when the bell over the door jingles.

“Sorry but we’re closed,” Seth calls out, before turning around to see who has just come in. 

Hunter stands in the doorway, his broad form blocking the exit. “Merry Christmas, champ.”

Seth freezes. All the air escapes his lungs. 

Hunter cocks his head, a small smile on his lips. “What, no holiday greeting for me?”

“Wh-What are you doing here?” Seth asks. His words come out in a stammer. _Master hates when I stutter_ , he catches himself thinking, and bites the inside of his cheek. “Please leave.” He can’t help the _please_ , and hates that Hunter looks very handsome in his navy pinstripe suit and pale blue shirt, that part of Seth remembers how commanding Hunter was in bed and how Seth used to want that domination, back in the beginning, back when he didn’t know any better - before _Finn_ showed him better.

Instead of leaving, Hunter walks up to the younger man, every step measured and steady. (Seth has flashes, memories of Mas- _Hunter_ doing this same thing, so many times, his movements meant to intimidate, to frighten Seth into submission before the older man ever reached him, ever even laid a hand on him.) He cups Seth’s cheek and frowns, tutting in disapproval as the edge of his thumb scrapes over the young man’s cheek. “You’ve grown thinner, Seth. Has your Prince Charming been starving you?”

How, Seth doesn’t know, but he _knows_ without a shadow of doubt that Hunter has been keeping tabs on him, and that he knows that Seth is alone for the next few days. A visceral chill spreads through him like ink in water. He jerks away from Hunter’s touch and scurries to the cash register, hoping the counter can give him a measure of safety. “Please go away,” he says, his voice cracking as he speaks despite his best efforts. His right hand reaches under the counter for Barb, Mick’s scratched-up but rock-hard baseball bat.

“I actually have a present for you,” Hunter says, reaching into his jacket, and pulls out a flat, palm-sized box. He comes to the counter and places it there; the box isn’t wrapped. Seth stares at it, unwilling and unable to look Hunter in the eye, terrified to do more than keep a facade of calm. Hunter nudges it closer to Seth. “Go on,” he says, voice gentler than it ever was when Seth was under his thumb, “open it. It’s not going to bite.”

“I don’t-” Seth swallows, his throat so dry that he feels like gagging. “I-I don’t... Thank you. But I don’t want it.”

“At least look at it.”

“I don’t _want_ it,” Seth repeats, feeling increasingly trapped. He finally looks up and meets Hunter’s gaze. “I don’t want anything from you anymore.”

A quick flash of anger, of _fury_ , fills Hunter’s eyes, but it’s tamped down almost immediately; still, it sends a fresh wave of terror throughout Seth’s body. “You’ve lost your manners, champ.” The words are said lightly, almost teasingly, but the threat underneath chills Seth. “It’s only polite to accept a gift offered.”

Seth’s hand tightens on the baseball bat. It reassures him that he’s not stuck in some nightmare, that if need be, he can defend himself. He screws up his courage and straightens his shoulders, staring directly at Hunter. _I can’t run forever,_ Seth tells himself. And then, a realization: he _doesn’t_ want to run forever, not from confronting this. Seth suddenly finds himself tired of being scared, of being a victim. _I am more than that. I have always been more than that._

“Everything that you gave me, even the good things... none of that was worth what _I_ gave _you_ ,” he says, his instinctual terror repressed with every word. “Five years where I had next to no contact with my family, my friends, five years of being scared to say the wrong thing, of _thinking_ the wrong thing... Of being treated like a _toy_ , passed around your friends? I was a college  _kid_ , Hunter, I found a way into the school I'd dreamed of, I was finally able to be truly out and proud, and you _trapped_ me. I liked myself before I met you, I was _proud_ of what I’d achieved before I met you. You took everything I liked about me from me and ripped it away, made me scared to stand on my own damn feet. No, Hunter. I don’t want your gift. I don’t give a shit if it's not polite.”

That defiance takes Hunter off-guard. He snarls and leans forward, as if ready to grab Seth and drag him out from behind the counter, so Seth adds quickly, “Surveillance cameras see every corner of the store.”

The bell over the door jingles again and a gruff voice calls out, “Oy, you got any Guinness left?”

It’s silent for only a moment, Hunter’s cold eyes boring into Seth’s, before Seth looks away - breaks Hunter’s hold. Tattoos and leather greet him. Aleister’s gaze is fixed on the counter where Hunter’s hand is curled into a fist atop the surface, darting up to take in Seth’s tense stance, Hunter’s aggressive one.

Hunter steps back from the counter and smooths down his jacket. He smiles at Seth - almost friendly, if not for the hard glint in his eyes - and says, “You have a customer.”

“Yeah, he does. Hey, where the fuck’s the Guinness?” Aleister says, sounding a lot less friendly than he usually does, but Seth has never been happier to see the tattoo artist. He points to the fridge on the right. Aleister stalks down the aisle.

Hunter exhales heavily, his eyes tracking Aleister’s movements. “I’ll see you around, champ.” He turns and leaves, the present he got for Seth still on the counter, as welcome as a scorpion in a sandwich. Seth wants to throw it away but even touching the box feels _wrong_.

Aleister approaches the counter as soon as Hunter exits, his Guinness in one hand.

“Seth.” His raspy, comforting voice washes over Seth, makes him feel warmer, even if he can’t bring himself to relax. “Everything good?”

Oxygen fills Seth’s lungs - he didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath - and he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “It’s- I’m okay,” he says weakly. “It’s okay.” When he opens his eyes, Aleister is frowning, but Seth repeats, “I’m okay,” and it sounds stronger this time, like he believes it. (He thinks he might.)

Aleister is eyeing him, stepping forward slowly, almost carefully; it takes Seth a beat longer than it should to realize that it’s for _his_ benefit, that Aleister is trying not to startle him by moving too quickly.

“It’s closing time,” the older man says, almost gently.

Seth nods, but doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. His heart is hammering in his chest, his lungs are burning. There’s a blockage in his throat; he tries to swallow, but a choked sob escapes instead, cut off almost as suddenly as it comes.

Aleister puts his hand in front of Seth where the young man can see. “Do you need a hug?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Seth nods, too shaken by the encounter to care about humiliation and embarrassment. Aleister guides him into an embrace, his heavily tattooed arms firm around Seth’s shoulders; the contact grounds Seth, calms his racing heart. He matches pace with Aleister’s even breathing, a difficult challenge at first, but slowly he manages, though he still feels shaky and cold inside.

“Thank you,” he tells Aleister, pushing the other man away gently. It’s odd, being hugged by an acquaintance, but Aleister exudes trustworthiness, and Seth appreciates his help. “Um. I-I have to close.”

“You do.” Aleister smiles, putting down some money for his beer.

Seth hesitates. He has to close, and if Hunter’s been watching him, if he's here to taunt or threaten him, then the older man is probably waiting for him nearby. Aleister’s gone by the time Seth thinks of asking him to stay.

 _Finn. I should call- No. I should call someone else._ Seth mentally runs down the list. Roman is with Tyler across the country, Joe is at the hospital watching over Mustafa, and Seth doesn’t want Paige and Becky to be on Hunter’s radar if he can help it. Karl is probably with his family and it is late. Maybe he can call Luke?

He grips the baseball bat, eyes flicking from his phone to the door and down again.

***

The worst thing about being in the hospital, Mustafa decides - aside from _being shot_ \- is the severe lack of channels on the television. Basic cable means sickening Christmas movie after sickening Christmas movie after-

The only good thing to come from his hospital stay has nothing at all to do with the hospital.

“This food is hardly fit for animals, much less _people_.” The disgust in Joe’s voice is delightful.

“It’s not meant to taste _good_ , you know,” Mustafa chuckles, the twinge in his midsection making his breath catch for a moment. “They’re more interested in just making sure you’re fed what you need to keep you healing.”

“The patients probably get out of hospital earlier to stop eating... I don’t even know what to call _this_ ,” Joe grumbles, poking at a pale gray lump, leftover from Mustafa’s dinner. 

Mustafa smiles wryly. “I think that’s supposed to be mashed potato.”

“I am going to cook proper food for you. This is garbage.” Joe glowers at a passing nurse, who scurries past the doorway. “What do you want for lunch tomorrow, baby? I’ll make it for you.”

It’s nice to be treasured. Mustafa feels all warm and contented, despite the terrible hospital fare, and he reaches out to grasp Joe’s hand. “It’s okay, Joe, there’s no need to go to any trouble for me.”

“It’s no trouble to take care of you.” Joe kisses Mustafa’s knuckles, and leans over to press another kiss to his forehead. 

There is a small commotion outside the door, and suddenly Paige and Becky burst in. “Hey loverboy,” Paige says cheerfully while Becky makes a rude gesture at the nurse outside. “Hope you don’t mind the late visit.”

“Yeah, our boss makes us keep the worst hours,” Becky chimes in. They have flowers and a shiny balloon, along with some apples. “Get well soon.”

Joe rolls his eyes. “You two are lucky I’m feeling charitable this holiday season or I’d fire both your asses.”

Mustafa hits Joe’s arm lightly, but Becky only snorts and plops down onto the uncomfortable sofa-bed in front of the window, swinging her legs up and leaning back. “As if you’d know what to do without us.”

Paige says in agreement, “He’d be calling us back within the hour,” before sitting in the extra chair at Mustafa’s bedside, opposite Joe. Her dark makeup is still perfectly applied, despite Mustafa knowing that they’ve just worked a full night at _Samoa Joe’s_ , and he wonders how she does it; Celina is always complaining about having to apply and reapply and repeat. (He may have to ask; he’s already gotten Celina a gift - _not_ for Christmas, but _just because_ \- but her birthday is just around the corner.)

“You two have gotten too lax in your positions,” Joe tells them. “One day, I’ll _really_ fire the both of you.”

“Sure you will, boss man.”

The verbal back-and-forth makes Mustafa laugh and wince as his stitches pull. Joe immediately focuses on the young man, asking if he’s okay.

Mustafa wrinkles his nose. “Yeah. Man, I can’t wait to get out of here and go home. I’m starting to miss washing my own dishes, even.”

“You’re going to need to take it easy for a few weeks, baby,” Joe says. “I’m not risking you tearing those stitches while you do chores. Infected wounds are no laughing matter.”

“Yeah,” Becky says, “I had to keep my right hand clean and sterilize the cut every day, so Paige did most of the work.”

“And that’s why you owe me about four thousand favors now,” Paige remarks dryly. 

“I can take care of myself.” Mustafa knows he sounds defensive, but he isn’t going to be an _invalid_ , to be dependent on someone else.

Joe raises his eyebrows. “Or you can be taken care of.”

“That sounds threatening when you put it that way, boss man,” Becky comments with a grin.

Paige interjects, “Or sexual, depending. This _is_ Joe.”

Joe leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger, exhaling a put-upon sigh. “Baby, I know I’ve asked this of you before, but don’t judge me by the company I keep.”

Paige’s raspy chuckle and Becky’s carefree laughter wind together in the small room. Mustafa offers a commiserating look and a touch to the bigger man’s leg, but a grin fights its way through, and the girls’ amusement grows.

Joe grumbles, “Traitor,” but his eyes are soft and his voice softer as his fingers tangle easily with Mustafa’s atop his thigh. “Seriously, though. Once you’re discharged, I’ll take you to my place, just so I can be sure you’re recovering.”

“I don’t want-”

“Visiting hours are _over_ ,” the head nurse announces in an irate tone at the door. “Look, we have been very accommodating with Mr Ali’s visitors, but coming in at this time is really beyond the pale, and making that racket is disturbing our other patients. So, _if_ you don’t mind, please go home, and visit Mr Ali another day.”

Paige sighs and walks out after hugging Mustafa lightly, her hair smelling of cigarettes (though there is a ban on smoking in bars); Becky grasps his hand and squeezes, before heading out the door. Joe is the last to go. He kisses Mustafa, murmuring a quiet _‘rest well, baby’_ , and Mustafa wants to hold him back, make him stay, so he says nothing, only smiles up at him and watches him leave.

He imagines moving into Joe’s apartment, sleeping on the wide bed with Joe near him, having breakfast, getting in each other’s way in the narrow kitchen. He cannot want it, he simply can’t, because it’s too soon, too early, too new. (He knows what Cedric would say, what Zenab would say: “Are you really ready to commit to him? Is he ready for that sort of relationship?” and while Mustafa knows his own answer, he doesn’t dare to find out what Joe thinks.)

***

Still holding the baseball bat like his life depends on it, Seth is starting to think he may have to stay in the store all Christmas when he hears the squeal of tires outside, and then Finn rushes in, face taut with anxiety, until he lays his blue eyes on Seth behind the counter. He's wearing a faded tee and the hems of his jeans are frayed, but he's never appeared more wonderful to Seth.

The young man feels the weight of his fear fading. Smiling weakly at Finn, he puts aside the baseball bat and holds up the keys. He does not trust himself to speak.

Hunter's present is still there where he left it. Finn walks up to the counter and frowns at it, before he glances at Seth and jerks his head at the innocuous box. (Seth’s already given him the pertinent details; he tried calling, but he was shaking so badly that he texted instead.) Despite his reservations, Seth nods, his throat closing. Finn opens it.

It's Seth's old collar, well-worn, stained on the inside. 

The Irishman slams the cover back on, his handsome face contorted into a ferocious scowl. Then he takes the box and crushes it between his hands, gripping the ruined packaging in one fist.

Hunkering down into a deep squat, Seth takes deep, slow breaths, mentally counting each one, forcing himself to remain steady. _My collar. He gave me my goddamn_ collar _._ After twenty-eight breaths, he stands and exits the counter.

Finn stays close to him as Seth flicks off the lights, leaving only the power to the fridges, and draws the shutters down. His fingers nearly fumble as he tries to insert the key. ( _If Hunter wanted to kidnap you, he'd do it now_ , he can't help thinking, and that sends a fresh wave of fear ricocheting down his spine.) Nevertheless, he manages to lock up, and sends a message to Mick about the key being in his letterbox.

Finn's Jaguar is right outside the store so Seth slides in the passenger seat. He's not used to being here; this is usually Karl's or Luke's seat, depending on whoever draws chauffeur duty (apparently it's a game the two big dudes play, on which side of the car it gets crapped on most by the end of the day. Winner drives the car, loser washes it.)

They don’t talk during the drive. Seth is still too tense, and Finn too angry with Hunter. Traffic is nearly as heavy as always - this close to downtown LA, there really isn’t an off-peak period - and the atmosphere in the interior of the car is heavy with dread, a contrast to the lit displays outside. A sense of exhaustion and futility washes over Seth. He wishes he can just celebrate the season. All he really wants is to have a nice lunch with Finn, maybe finally resolve the issues that lie between them, but Hunter had to ruin it. 

_Merry fucking Christmas to me._

He hates that the other man can still hurt him this much with this little. With a sharp inhalation, he shuts his eyes and hugs himself, his fingers digging into his upper arms with so much force, he’ll give himself bruises. Then he feels a warm hand on his elbow. Finn isn't looking at him, his eyes still on the road, but he's obviously aware of Seth's distress. The younger man allows himself a modicum of ease, and takes Finn's hand, loosely lacing their fingers together to rest their linked hands on his thigh. 

It feels right, holding Finn's hand again. Seth never wants to let go.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Seth goes home, Roman learns a bit more about Tyler, and Finn exposes his past.

They are still holding hands when they get to the lift lobby. With growing trepidation, Finn stabs at the elevator button to the penthouse. “There’s been some changes to the place,” he tells Seth, breaking the silence, and adds, “I know Bayley told you about... about my tantrum. I had the decorator come in and, um, fix up a few things, did a bit of light renovation.”

Seth nods, his grip tightening slightly. He looks closed off, worried, _scared;_  Finn wishes - how he _wishes_ \- he can erase Hunter from Seth’s past. No one should have the power to hurt Seth as much as that bastard does.

“Doesn’t-” Seth's voice cracks and he clears his throat, continuing: “Doesn’t renovating take a lot of time?”

“Apparently while time is money, money can be time,” Finn jokes weakly as the doors slide open and they step into his penthouse. “Come with me. Please.”

Seth smiles at him and follows. There is no hesitation or reluctance in the younger man, as Finn was afraid there’d be after that fight (was it a fight? Seth never fought back; it was Finn who attacked), but Seth stops in his tracks once they step into the main living space and he sees what Finn has done. 

The corner of the room where the pool table used to be has been turned into a glass conservatory, along with a sliding door, with two long rows of black wooden shelves, and a metal rack in the corner with lots of gardening tools. Seth’s three orchids are in the glass room, along with his herbs. Seth drops Finn’s hand and walks towards it, eyes wide with astonishment and disbelief. “Wh- what’s this for?”

Finn drinks in Seth’s amazement. “I remember you said you wanted to grow orchids, when you first moved in. And herbs. After we... After you moved out, I did some reading, and I thought it’d be nice having a place for you to grow them. I-I was hoping you’d come back. The decorator was asking if she should get the plants, but I thought you’d like to pick them out yourself.” Then he adds hurriedly, “I’m not saying you _have_ to come back, I can have this taken down if you think it’s too much, I didn't mean to put pressure-”

“Shut up,” Seth interrupts him, but he’s smiling, _glowing,_ and then he closes the distance to kiss Finn.

The older man melts into the kiss, his hands settling on Seth’s waist while the latter cups Finn’s face, their lips moving together to savor each other’s sweetness, like they’ve never done anything else. If Finn has any doubt about Seth still loving him, it is dispelled entirely. He tugs the other man closer, now reaching one hand up to undo Seth’s hair tie so he can tangle his fingers into soft, fluffy hair, drawing a soft moan from Seth in the process. _How I’ve missed this_ , Finn thinks, his heart wild with gratitude and joy. _Seth, my love, my love, how I’ve missed you._

Eventually they part, but they lean their foreheads together, breathing heavily, just basking in each other’s presence. Seth nudges his nose against Finn’s. “I left your present back in Roman’s apartment.”

“We’ll retrieve it another day.” Finn inhales, breathing in his lover’s scent, wanting to etch this moment in his mind forever. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I know.” 

They stand in the middle of the room for a long while, just holding each other, until Seth murmurs, “We still have to deal with... everything. Hunter and... and your past, all of it.”

“I know.” 

“I was so scared.” Seth shudders, violently, biting his lower lip. “I thought he’d take me away again. I was- I didn’t want to go with him, I was so afraid-”

Finn tightens his grip. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. He will never hurt you again, ever. I won't let him.”

Seth inhales sharply, pressing his face into Finn’s cheek, his warm breath washing over Finn’s jaw. Finn pets his hair, soothing him as if he were a frightened puppy, promising again and again that _you are safe, you are protected, you are home_. “I’ll deal with him.”

“ _We_ will deal with him, and everything else.” Seth pulls away and gazes at him, his eyes glimmering with purpose. “Not tonight though.” 

The older man hugs him close, pressing a kiss into Seth’s cheek. “Not tonight.” He pulls away, barely a few inches yet feeling the loss of warmth with an acute pang, asking, “Do you want to sleep in the other bedroom?” (He doesn’t want to hope, he doesn’t _dare_ to hope-)

With a bashful smile, Seth says, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep on my side of our bed.” He hurriedly adds, “No sex though. I-I’m not... I don’t want to. I mean, with all the... A-and, and I, um...” He fidgets, as though trying to find the words to explain himself, when Finn kisses the corner of his mouth.

“I understand,” Finn assures him. “Let’s just sleep.”

***

A faint noise rouses Finn.  He opens his eyes, aware that it's the middle of the night; Seth is curled up against his shoulder, his arm still draped over Finn’s waist, while the older man’s hand rests on Seth’s (distressingly thin) belly under his loose tee. The other man is snoring softly, his entire body relaxed.

The Irishman smiles and slowly exhales. _He’s home,_ Finn thinks, and for the first time in more than two decades, offers a silent prayer of thanks. If God still gives a shit about Finn and his tarnished soul, perhaps He may extend a protective hand over Seth.

Seth grunts and shifts about, face tilting up as if to speak to Finn. “Izzer smtn?” he mumbles.

“Shh. Sleep.” Finn kisses him on the top of his head. “Everything is fine.”

The brunet makes a soft sound of agreement and snuggles closer. Finn shifts his free hand to skim along Seth’s arm (more muscled, somehow, but far too thin), and brushes back stubborn tendrils of hair sticking to Seth’s cheek. 

He feels content.

Yet, for all the contentment he feels, he doesn’t lose sight of the fact that Hunter visited Seth. That man wants something - not Seth, because if he wanted Seth he would have abducted him outright - he wanted to _frighten_ Seth. 

 _But why?_ Finn kisses the top of Seth’s head again, determined not to let Hunter ruin this peaceful night. He sets the thought aside to discuss with Joe. Closing his eyes, Finn focuses on the warmth that Seth has brought back to his life, and drifts into the first restful sleep since they parted.

***

The car handles like a dream but the road out of the estate and into town is a nightmare. Roman follows the directions in Google Maps while Tyler Breeze chatters away on the phone to Drake Maverick, talking about a guest list and arguing over catering. The Samoan stifles a yawn, for the first time in his life having found it difficult to sleep, despite the bed being soft and warm as a really warm bundle of wool. Perhaps it was too comfortable. He’s used to firm mattresses or hard corners. (It’s funny, really. He could sleep in Dean’s shitty pickup, the one with the imaginary suspension, but a feather bed? Beyond his vaunted ability to nod off anyplace.)

“That’s the watch shop,” Breeze announces abruptly. Roman parks the car just outside, inwardly dreading the looks the employees inside are going to direct at Breeze and Roman. It’s far too early in the morning - barely seven - and being ordered to open for one single man would have irked Roman, if he’d been dumb enough to work retail.

“Mr Briesman, welcome!” A middle-aged brunette, bedecked with far too much costume jewelry (Roman is used to seeing real bling by now) and stuffed into a dress two sizes too small for her, hurries up to bow and hold Breeze’s hand in greeting. “Please, take your time. We’re not opening the shop to anyone but you today.”

“As it should be, Mrs Guerrero. Now let me shop in peace.” Breeze saunters in, peering at the different watches on display. Tag Heuers, Patek Philippes, Rolexes... After about ten minutes’ perusal, Breeze selects two Rolex watches. “Reigns, take these,” he orders, shoving a bag with the gifts in them at him, and the socialite then takes out a credit card. “Add $500 to the bill, Mrs Guerrero, for the great service.” 

Roman is surprised. Maybe the owner of the watch shop has known Breeze for ages.

“Thank you, Mr Briesman,” Mrs Guerrero gushes. “Have a lovely Christmas!”

At the next shop - an antiques store specializing in cameos, cufflinks, and other accessories, Breeze splurges on a pair of ruby earrings and two emerald cufflinks, along with a hand-embroidered shawl featuring a peacock, every tail feather carefully sewn onto fine silk. Here, he leaves $800 on top of the price of the purchases. (“Get something for that sore throat, Mr Patterson, you’re going to scare away the few people coming in here with all that coughing.”)

The toys and games shop is manned by a young couple. Breeze buys half a dozen pricey board games and limited edition figurines. When each of the couple gets $500 as well, the Hispanic woman break into an excited babble of Spanish about paying the rent and getting the nursery ready, to which Breeze breaks into a delighted smile and insists on adding another $1000 “para el bebe”, and that causes the young woman to start crying and thanking him, but Breeze escapes before she can come around the counter to hug him.

Lunch is at a quaint little cafe, run by a genial old gent who doesn’t talk at all. The shepherd’s pie is filling and delicious, and the beef stew exceptional. When Breeze leaves yet another hefty tip, the old man shakes his hand vigorously. 

Roman thanks Breeze for the meal, but Breeze waves it off. “I needed to eat, and you’re my driver. Let’s go back. Hartford will label them and put them under the tree.”

When they get back, Breeze goes straight to bed, leaving the door ajar, while Hartford and Roman sort out the different purchases. Very quietly, Hartford asks, “How was Master Tyler on his errand today?”

Roman shrugs. “I guess I see why the shops don’t mind opening early for him the day before Christmas Eve. They must love when he shows up.”

“Master Tyler does his best to go to different shops every year,” Hartford confides, now wrapping the presents with pale cream-and-gold paper. “Last Christmas, he bought out nearly half of the stationery store’s card stock, and ordered the staff to use his purchase for decorations. The year before that, he placed orders for three dozen hams from the local butcher; I organized the distribution of roast hams on Boxing Day.”

Quietly taping down the wrapping, Roman listens to the butler talk. Hartford seems to have many stories - Master Tyler as a child kept a tortoise, skinned his knee returning a wounded bird to its nest, liked to steal strawberries from the kitchen garden for his classmates; Master Tyler as a young adult, coming home once a year laden with dozens of high-end goods for the staff (Hartford shows off the Hermès belt he’s wearing, a Christmas present from last year). Not present in the butler’s tales are mentions of Breeze’s parents or brother. 

“He may seem rude and spoiled to some people,” Hartford concludes, gathering up the labeled boxes, “and he sometimes is so, but Master Tyler has a good heart.”

“No, I don’t. Don’t believe this senile old man,” Breeze says, ambling into the den where Hartford and Roman have been working. “Mm. They look presentable. What am I getting for Christmas, Hartford?”

“Another Bible, Master Tyler, from Lady Beatrice; a fountain pen from your mother, a tie pin from your father. I believe Miss Kelsey sent along a book by Enrico Bernardo. Master Eddie has ordered and wrapped his present personally, unfortunately.”

“Kelsey got me  _The Impossible Collection of Wine_ _?_  Darling girl. She’s getting an extra Gucci scarf.” The blond disappears into his bedroom once more, and Hartford’s wrinkled face breaks into a fond smile, and he winks at Roman. Then Breeze yells, “Reigns! Where the hell did you pack my scarves? How am I supposed to function tonight if I have to keep _looking_ for things?”

The bodyguard sighs and rolls his eyes. Once the scarf is retrieved and handed to the butler, Hartford bows - as much as the armful of presents allows - and winks at Roman. 

Breeze scowls at the old man’s departing figure. “He’s so determined to make people _like_ me,” he complains. “When he finally retires from here, I’m going to make him work for me in Hollywood. Let’s see if he still thinks I’m _nice_ then.”

Staying in a sunny and warm climate with just one man and a dog to take care of? Roman smiles to himself. Breeze really does have a good heart.

***

Seth wakes up to an empty bed. He feels a stab of anxiety and fear, before he calms himself down. _I’m at home,_ he thinks, and warmth blossoms in him. _I’m at_ home.

He wraps his arms around himself, unwilling to let go of how safe he feels in this space. He is home,  he is where Finn is. Whatever else happens, whatever Finn shares, Seth promises to remember this sensation of security, of comfort and belonging. He’s still ruminating over what this means for him when Finn comes in with a tray holding a pitcher of orange juice, a steaming mug, and two bowls. The older man is still in the same faded tee shirt and the running shorts he wore to bed last night.

“Cereal,” Finn announces, grinning. “Not so big a fool as to try to cook.” He’s practically aglow, Seth thinks, feeling much the same himself, reaching a hand out to Finn. The Irishman sets the tray on the bedside table and sits beside Seth, kissing the young man’s forehead and then his lips. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Seth murmurs, and buries his face into Finn’s chest, content to be petted. He starts laughing when Finn insists on feeding him the cereal (“Lucky Charms, of course, there has to be something Irish in this house besides me") but Seth manages to take the spoon from Finn. The other bowl holds cut fruit that the Irishman feeds Seth by hand, his gaze full of soft yearning as Seth’s lips close over his fingers and thumb with every mouthful.

Much as he wants to, Seth can’t stay in bed being spoiled like a prince. After he’s showered and brushed his teeth, Seth returns to the bedroom to find Finn looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“I suppose it’s time to talk,” Finn says. He stands up and exhales heavily. “Let’s go to my office.”

Seth has been in here just the one time, to pick up Finn’s appointment book. It’s still an impressive space - floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, the other wall covered with sleek black opaque glass. They sit on opposite ends of the desk, both extending their hands at the same time to grasp the other’s. This is going to be difficult.

“I love you,” Seth tells Finn, before either of them says anything. It's important that the other man knows.

“I love you too.” Finn smiles at the younger man. He squeezes Seth’s fingers. “How should we begin?”

Seth chews on his lower lip. “At the beginning? I wanna know about you. I wanna know the side of you that... that you didn’t want to show me.”

“There’s a lot.” Finn chuckles, sounding tired even before he starts. “I was born in a small town in Ireland, ran away from home around seventeen. I was a teen hooligan, really, just bumming around until the incident with the cop happened, the one I told you about...” His voice is soothing, Irish lilt deep, a familiar comfort to Seth, keeping him calm even as the older man lists off some of the worst things he has taken part in, the deeds he’s committed in the names of _money_ and _business_. He talks about the deals he’s brokered between some of the most powerful criminals and politicians (who often were one and the same); the favors owed him and the favors he owes others; how Joe finally ended Finn’s life in Japan and gave him a new one in LA.

The older man doesn’t hide the fact that he’s killed people before, though he doesn’t give an exact number nor does he give names; Seth feels a little sickened with the knowledge, but he stays in the room, holds Finn’s hand, looks him in the eye without flinching.

 _I chose this_ , Seth reminds himself. _I wanted to know, to hear the darkest side of him. I love him._

(God help him, but - darkness and all - Seth loves him.)

“I killed a young man recently too,” Finn confesses. His voice is cracking. “He wasn’t supposed to be involved, but he would have implicated Joe.” He stares out the window, breathing slowly, before turning his blue eyes back on Seth. “If the choice is between people I care for and someone I don’t, I will not hesitate. That is how this side of the law operates.”

“Can’t you just... not kill them?”

“Sometimes that’s not an option,” Finn replies, his tone regretful. “If anything, I try not to resort to that, nowadays. I can’t promise that I won’t kill again, but I can promise that it will be a last resort.”

Seth breathes out uneasily. He’s known that Hunter hired killers - that’s how Joe came into the picture, after all - and that, _this side of the law_ , as Finn puts it, is one where assassination is merely a service rendered.

 _And if Hunter ever comes after Finn,_ a voice in Seth’s head whispers, _are you going to_ reason _with him? Or will you do everything in your power to stop him?_

Seth isn't sure he could kill, but he will definitely do everything he can to protect those he loves. That was why he took Hunter’s abuse in the first place without complaint or confiding in anyone, wasn’t it? Because if he’d told Dean or Roman, they’d have tried to save Seth, and Hunter would’ve hurt them. He might even have killed them. Seth had known then that Hunter could - and did - do terrible things to achieve his goals.

"Are you thinking that I'm not worth the trouble?" Finn asks, his tone light, though there is apprehension and shame in his gaze. 

Seth grips Finn's hand. "Tell me about the deal with Hunter and the Broken Skulls."

It turned out that Finn's part in that deal was to arrange a conversation between Hunter and the leader of the paramilitary group, someone with the nickname of the Rattlesnake. (Seth already knows this from Roman - he's glad to be certain that Finn isn't lying to him.) "He owed me a favor, because I arranged for a top-notch surgeon to operate on his neck," Finn explains. "That surgeon is wanted in the US for... Well. Really bad shit. She was in Argentina, so as not to be extradited; I got her to repair the Rattlesnake's spine, and he regained 80% of his mobility."

"What did Hunter want from them?"

"Moving laborers across the border," Finn says. "Under the radar, away from border control. They're paid a lot less and they can't complain to anyone." Finn exhales, looking away from Seth. "I'm not... I didn't think it was wrong, because these laborers wanted to work here and, for all that the Rattlesnake is a son of a bitch, he's also able to keep his guys from taking advantage of the laborers; the Skulls get paid well from the guys who need the workers, and that's it."

It's a lot _less_ than what Seth was privately worried about. When he heard that the Broken Skulls are human traffickers, he thought they were smuggling sex workers or children, those who are really vulnerable and defenseless. This is labor exploitation. It's still _bad_ , he knows, but it's not as bad as he feared. _Or am I just rationalizing so I can stay with him?_

After a pause (during which Finn drinks his coffee and tries to look composed, but he keeps playing with the bullet on his chain), Seth makes up his mind. _Does it matter, really? He isn’t that man anymore. He’s changed._ He reaches across the desk and holds Finn’s fidgeting hand. “Thank you for telling me all of that.”

“If you think...” Finn swallows, clearing his throat. “If you think that is too much danger for you, I’d understand if you’d rather... If you’d rather I leave you in peace. I can set you up anywhere in the country, and I-I won’t ever contact you again, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want that.” Seth smiles at him. “I’m staying. With you. Whatever comes, I’m staying with you.” 

Finn exhales and walks around the desk, stopping in front of Seth and getting the younger man to stand up. Finn’s hand is warm and gentle when it’s laid against Seth’s cheek. “You are... _mo aingeal, is mise mo shlánú._ ”

His brow creasing, Seth smiles and says, “You know I don’t understand what you just said.”

“I know.” The Irishman kisses him softly. “ _Is breá liom an oiread sin, mo chroí._ ”

“Now you’re doing it on purpose.” Seth chuckles, nuzzling against Finn. His smile falters when an unpleasant memory resurfaces, and a sickening feeling creeps down his throat. “What should we do about... about Hunter?”

"I don't know yet," Finn admits. "We'll be careful. He will overplay his hand, and then we can get him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mo aingeal, is mise mo shlánú - my angel, you are my salvation  
> Is breá liom an oiread sin, mo chroí - I love you so much, my heart
> 
> (as always, these are from Google Translate, so drop us a message if we used it wrongly)


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with Christmas.

“So. Boyfriend.” Zenab takes a long sip of her coffee, before winking at her brother. “Give me the dirt, _bhaiya_. How did a clean-cut, nice young cop begin dating a bar owner who looks like he eats baby squirrels for fun?”

Mustafa groans. “You’re taking advantage of the fact that I can’t run away from this conversation.” He sighs and plays with the corner of the thin hospital blanket, rolling it up and unrolling it. “I don’t know. He asked me out for coffee and then I asked him out for a second date and... we just continued.”

Zenab smirks, making her look more like a mischievous college kid than a data analyst and a mother of three young children. “And what’s with calling him _‘Daddy’_? Is it something kinky?”

“Oh for- Can I get shot _again_ , please?” He pulls the blanket over his face, knowing that he cannot hide the embarrassment from his sister any better than he could live in the bottom of the ocean (though he wishes he could be there right now, because then all he would have to deal with are anglerfish and giant squid and maybe some sea cucumbers).

“Come on, Moose, you know I’m not gonna judge.” She tugs the blanket away from his face, but her expression is gentle. “Listen, I just want you to be happy. Are you happy with him?”

He can’t look her in the eyes. “I am?”

“You don’t sound too certain, _bhaiya._ ”

“Zee, I am happy with him,” Mustafa replies, soft and hesitant. “I just don’t know if _he’s_ happy with _me_.”

A small crease forms between Zenab’s brows. She covers his hand with hers (her nails are usually brightly colored, Mustafa notes, but now they’re plain, with just a coat of varnish) and says, “He’d be an idiot not to appreciate you, Moose. I mean, sure, you can be a dumbass, and you borrow stuff from me without asking, and you leave remotes and coins between cushions, and you have the worst taste in movies... You know, now that I think about it, maybe I should warn _him_ about _you_.”

"Asshole." Mustafa swats her with his right hand, the left arm still hooked up to a drip (blessed, blessed sedative; they’ll taper off the dosage but for now, when it’s too much pain, he just has to press a button and whoosh, _relief_ ). “Not everyone has to like me, _baji._ ”

“Only people with a brain and a heart, and your Joe looks like he’s got both.”

The door to the ward opens and the man under discussion walks in, pausing momentarily to nod at Zenab. “Hi.”

“Hello,” she says, smiling warmly. With a sly glance at Mustafa, she asks, “Hey, Joe, what’s your opinion of Alan Rickman?”

Looking a little confused, Joe says, “Great actor, occasionally questionable movies, but he’s always fun to watch.”

“Ha!” Mustafa pokes his sister in the waist.

“Don’t think I won’t do the same when you’re better,” she warns him. Then she stands and ruffles Mustafa’s hair, grinning when he scowls at her. “I have to go back, but I will text, and you better give Mom and _Dad-_ ” She flashes a wink at Joe, who only chuckles, “-a call, tell them you’re okay.” A pause, and she adds, “I didn’t tell them about Joe.”

Mustafa chews on his upper lip. “No, I don’t think I will either. Not yet.” To Joe, he says, “Sorry. It’s not about you.”

The big man shrugs. Zenab shakes his hand and kisses Mustafa on his forehead before leaving. Joe settles down into the seat he’s claimed as his. “Your parents don’t like you being gay?”

“They don't really _mind_ , but they still want me to marry and have kids. We fought a lot about this. Dad was a policeman too, in Chicago where he met Mom. I thought he’d be proud of me for becoming an officer - and he is - but every time we chat, he’d mention some girl that he wants me to meet. Zee runs interference when she can, but there’s only so much she can buffer.” Mustafa takes Joe’s hand and twines their fingers together. “Mama was the one who really was there for me. She even tried to introduce guys to me until Ced put a stop to it. Spoilsport. Some of the guys she got me to meet were real hunks.”

“Is that so?”

Mustafa glances at Joe, suspicious of the deceptively mild tone, but there is a teasing glimmer in Joe’s eyes. The younger man snorts and leans back, gazing at Joe fondly. It’s nearly Christmas Eve, and there are strings of tinsel in the hospital. Some dude in a Santa suit came by the other day too, left a gift for Mustafa (Mustafa passed it to Cedric for Jabari). Joe then reaches into the bag he’s brought along and takes out a foil-wrapped package.

“You got me a turkey sandwich?” Mustafa asks when he unwraps it.

“I used a friend’s halal-certified kitchen to make it,” says Joe. Then he turns on his tablet and loads a movie. “Also, I was told by Paige that I should watch this with you for the holidays.”

It’s _Love Actually_. Mustafa smiles, shifting over in bed as best as he can so he can lean against Joe somewhat. He may not celebrate Christmas, but this is a pleasant way to pass the time.

“Oh for- this was supposed to be _Die Hard,_ ” Joe grumbles under his breath. “I’m gonna kill her.”

***

Roman knocks on Breeze’s bedroom door. "Mr Breeze? I have Seth on FaceTime, do you wanna-”

“Sethie? Sure! Come in, give me the phone.” Tyler Breeze makes grabby hands. He’s dressed in a baby pink tank top (the word _Gorgeous_ is emblazoned across his chest in gold sequins) and dark gray running shorts. The bruises on his limbs have mostly faded. Once he has the phone, he brightens perceptibly and flops down on his belly, wiggling in delight. “Sethie Sethie Sethie! Merry Christmas! I have your present with me, by the way.”

 _“Hi Tyler,”_ Seth replies, after a peal of laughter. _“You look great. I have yours with me too.”_

And the blond does look good, for all that he’s been grumpy all afternoon and is about to get ready for yet another family dinner, this time with almost all his relatives. For tonight, Roman has been told to stay in the suite; Breeze will be with a cousin that he likes, and Hartford will keep an eye on him.

“Of course I look good,” Breeze says, rolling his eyes but smiling as he says so. (Roman finds the arrogance annoying, but it fits Breeze, somehow, adds to his overall attractiveness, which is _even_ _more_ aggravating.) “How are you spending your Christmas?”

_“Well, I, uh... Is Roman still there?”_

“I’m here,” Roman says, circling around the bed so he can be in the background. Breeze turns to look at him and rolls his eyes, before patting the space on the bed beside him. Feeling quite awkward and self-conscious, Roman climbs on, doing his best not to jostle Breeze.

Seth grins at them both. _“Hey. I have some news.”_ He glances at something off-screen, and says, _“So, not great things first: Hunter came to look for me at work. Nothing - bad - happened, just... I didn’t, uh, I’m okay.”_ He nods his head emphatically, as if to reassure Roman and Breeze. _“I freaked out a little but I’m okay. Which leads to the... well, the better news.”_

“What is it?” Roman asks, pushing aside his concern about the Hunter incident for now.

Seth smiles at something - _someone_ \- off-camera, and reaches out for them. The phone is shifted as he’s joined by Finn, who puts his arm over Seth’s shoulders. _“We made up. It’s okay now, Roman, Finn’s told me everything. I’m... I’m prepared. I wanna stay with him.”_

As Seth speaks, Finn gazes at him in adoration and tenderness. It’s evident to Roman that the older man really does love Seth, and if he has been honest with Seth, if Seth knows what he’s in for... Roman clears his throat and remarks, “I’m not sorry for what I did before, for the record.”

Finn snorts, a small crooked grin on his face. _“You thought it was necessary to protect Seth. I get it.”_

 _“I’ll return the keys to the apartment when you come back,”_ Seth tells Roman.

Roman shakes his head. “Keep it, just in case.” _In case you need a place to run to,_ is what he doesn’t say, and from Finn’s raised eyebrow, the Irishman understands, a minute nod to Roman a silent acknowledgment.

“This is the best Christmas present ever,” Breeze says, beaming, and adds, “I have to get ready for dinner, but I’m glad for you, Sethie, Finn has missed you.”

 _“We both miss you too, pet,”_ Finn replies. _“Come to our place when you return, okay? I think it’ll be good for us to spend some time together. Maybe you can sleep over.”_

“Of course I will!” Breeze chirps, bright and cheerful. “Love you both.”

 Finn and Seth end the conversation with _‘love you too'_ , and the screen goes back to Roman's wallpaper of Seffy in her little Halloween unicorn-witch costume. 

After he takes the phone from Breeze, Roman slides off the bed, checking carefully that he’s not scuffed the sheets. (He can’t help wondering what the thread count of the bedlinen here is. Everything is extra soft, and it makes him feel extra clumsy.) “It’s nice that Finn is with Seth for Christmas.”

“Yeah, it is,” says Breeze. 

There’s something in his tone that bothers Roman. He glances up. The beaming smile on the blond’s face earlier has disappeared entirely, replaced with a wistful, far-off gaze. Roman is about to leave the room, pretending he hasn’t noticed anything, when Breeze sniffs and makes a choked-off noise, before he swipes at his eyes impatiently, twisting his face away from the Samoan.

Roman can’t walk away from anyone when they’re upset. He scratches the back of his neck, wondering what to do, when Breeze says softly, “I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re upset,” Roman says. _Pointing out the obvious. Wow, what a genius you are, Reigns._

“I said I’ll be alright,” Breeze snaps, his face still averted. He sounds worse now, as if he’s really crying, rolling over to sit up, hugging his knees and hiding his face. 

Much as this is making him uncomfortable, there is no way Roman is going to walk out on someone crying, so he sits on the edge of the bed, not looking at the other man. “You don’t like that they’re back together?”

There is silence from the other man, and then Breeze replies, “I do want them back together. I told you off for splitting them up, remember?”

“But you’re... you’re crying.”

“Don’t _say_ that.” Breeze kicks Roman lightly with one bare foot. “Don’t just say that someone is crying. It’s rude.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just- I’ve been with Finn for years, okay? I was there _first_." There's a soft 'whumpf' sound, like Breeze had punched his pillow. "I... I’m his princess, his best sub. I know he loves me, he _does_ , but no matter what I do, no matter what I’ve _done_ , no matter how good and obedient I am to him, he’s never looked at me like...” Another sniffle, another choked off sob. “He never looked at me like _that._ I’m happy for Sethie, I really am, he’s sweet, but I just wish-” He cuts himself off. 

Roman risks looking at Breeze. The other man is wiping his eyes with his tank top, his cheeks blotchy and lips deeply pink, like they’re bitten raw. Breeze catches Roman’s scrutiny and glares, though the force of it is dampened by the tears that darken his eyelashes. He looks so young and lost that Roman wants to hug and comfort him, for all that Breeze is a year older than Roman is.

“What?” Breeze demands, almost pouting at the Samoan man's scrutiny. 

“Do they know? That you love-” Roman clears his throat. “That you’re in love with Finn.”

“No, and you’re not telling them, either,” the blond warns, fierce and determined. He swipes away the wetness under his eyes. “They are _happy_ , and I can- I am happy for them; they love me too, I know they do, and it’s good enough.” Then, as if to himself, he repeats, “It’s good enough.” He sniffs again. “Alright, Reigns. I’m okay, I have to get ready. Make yourself useful and find me a couple of cold packs. Can’t go down with puffy eyes.”

Assured that Breeze is no longer as upset as before, Roman leaves the room, feeling a vague sense of dismay that he didn’t have the right words to really comfort Breeze, and a strange, unfocused anger at Finn and even Seth for not seeing Breeze’s hopeless devotion to Finn. _But they do care for him,_ Roman tells himself. _And you can’t force people to be in love - you and Lina already proved that._

***

“And then I told her, ‘If you think that’s big, you should see my _other_ club!’” 

Tyler plasters on his best ‘vacant celebrity’ smile, all too aware that he’s already on his final glass of wine that Finn’s allowed him, and about to throw it in the smug face of Maxwell Jacob Friedman. 

 _God, I forget how much I_ loathe _these people,_ he thinks even as Maxwell launches into yet another boring, misogynistic ramble to the group. Tyler sighs. Maxwell adds in a faux whisper, “Oh I’m sorry Tyler, I forget that you don’t get it, you’ve never fucked a woman.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “All I can say is that I’ve made as many women come as you have, Max.” He sips on the pinot noir - a recent vintage, probably a Louis Jadot - and walks away to find Reigns. Where the hell is his bodyguard?

As he makes his way through the crowd, he feels a strong grip on his elbow. It’s his brother, Eddie. A tremor of fear shudder through Tyler but he masks it. “Hello Eddie. What is it?”

“If you can’t be civil to my friends, then you ought to be taught some manners.” Eddie’s gaze is hard and cold as stone, though he still has an amiable smile on his face. “The Friedmans are important, Tyler.”

“Maxwell is an ass, no matter how important he is.” Tyler wrenches his arm from Eddie. All the personal training isn’t for vanity’s sake - Tyler knows that Eddie wishes they were children again, when he could push his scrawny younger brother around easily. (Down the stairs. Into a pond. Off a tree. Tyler learned to run fast.) “I’ll stay away from him.”

“ _You’d better_.” The older man barely hides the veiled threat. He releases his younger brother and walks away, smiling and chatting with the other guests.

Tyler downs the rest of his wine and leaves the glass on a shelf. He really shouldn’t have drunk any, since he barely ate anything tonight. Dinner _last night_ was bearable, because he could sit with Kelsey and chat with her about her college experience (data security is the next big industry, she says, in the middle of explaining the inherent flaws of cryptocurrency), taking his mind off of Seth and Finn’s reunion. Tonight, most of the younger relatives are in the games room and he has to do the rounds for the business. Every year, his parents issue invites to a party on Christmas Eve, precisely because they know their invited guests won’t turn down the chance to socialize with the Briesmans; it’s another way of establishing dominance. _I’m so powerful and rich that you’d do anything to be in the inner circle._

It’s not until he sneaks into the kitchen that he finds any respite. The catering staff barely accord him a glance as they circulate in and out. Tyler goes to the back door, knowing that the garden shed won’t be in use at the moment. Hartford sees him and passes him a tray with some chocolate chip cookies, along with a thermos that Tyler knows contains warm milk. The butler smiles. “Would you need anything else, sir?”

“Thank you, Hartford. Tell Reigns where I am, and to bring a coat for me. And make sure he’s dressed for walking outside.”

The shed is cold, but not unbearable. He is only on his second cookie when he hears a knock on the door, then the butler opens it to let Reigns in and then leaves them alone.

“I lost you in there for a moment, I am so sorry,” the tall Samoan says immediately. Roman looked very sharp in his all-black custom suit earlier, so it’s a shame that he has covered it all up with his plain navy jacket. “Hartford said you wanted your coat.” He hands Tyler the tan Zegna cashmere The blond slips it on, feeling much better. 

“Yep.” Tyler hands a cookie to him. 

“No, thank you.”

“Eat the damn cookie, Reigns.” Tyler wiggles it. Reigns takes it. As his bodyguard eats his cookie, Tyler says, “I don’t want to go back in there yet. Tell you what: I’ll show you the grounds.”

***

Roman has no clue where Breeze is taking him, but the closed-off expression the blond wore all night has eased somewhat, which reassures Roman. It’s not that he _cares_ about how Breeze feels. _It’s because Seth is involved,_ he reasons. _Because it's Seth's happiness that caused Breeze to feel sad._ But what sticks in his mind is how _fiercely_ Breeze demanded that Roman keeps his secret, so that neither Seth nor Finn knows.

The blond leads the way to a large pond. It’s not cold enough to be frozen, but it looks black and dangerous. Breeze cuts a lonely figure, pale against the darkness, his golden hair gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He tugs his coat closer around himself and heads left, a quarter way round the pond, where there is a circle of white stones in the ground, and on the biggest one is a crude drawing of a tortoise. (Or maybe it’s a turtle. Roman can’t tell.)

“Shelly,” Breeze says, squatting down to touch the drawing. “My first pet. Never figured out if it was male or female.”

“You didn’t take it to the vet’s after you got it?” Roman sticks his hands in his pockets; he knows nothing about tortoises or turtles other than they both are reptiles and start with T.

Breeze snorts. “Three days after I was given it, Eddie threw it from my bedroom window.” A horrified silence falls between them. The blond adds, very quietly, “I was five years old. Shelly nearly hit me. Eddie said it was my fault for not catching it.”

Roman can’t imagine how traumatizing that must have been for a child. His own daughter Seffy is five - if something like that happened to her... “Your parents must have been furious,” he says. He would’ve been.

“They said I should have put Shelly in a safer place where Eddie couldn’t get to it.” Breeze sighs and stands. “I cried for months. Nightmares. Nothing like witnessing the violent death of a pet to give you childhood trauma.” It would have been better if Breeze sounds angry. Instead, he just sounds tired and sad. Then he chuckles, to Roman’s surprise. “I think the wine got to my head. I really should have eaten more at dinner.”

“Do you wanna go back?”

“Nah. Eddie’s on the warpath.” Off Roman’s frown, he explains, “I insulted one of his friends earlier.” He walks again, pointing out the stables, the road to the guest house, the helicopter landing pad. “And that tree is where I broke my left leg.”

“Hartford said you skinned your knees.”

“Different tree.” A slight pause, and he continues: “Eddie got a BB gun for his birthday. He wanted to shoot the peacocks but those were Mother’s so he found another target. I thought the tree branches would hide me, but he pulled me by my ankle while I was climbing. I lost my grip, fell. He laughed when I cried, and fired a few pellets at me.”

Roman’s jaw clenches. _Your brother is a psychopath,_ he wants to say. He keeps it civil, however. “You must have hated him.”

“Not really. I was afraid of him. I wanted him to like me. I thought that if he liked me, then maybe he could be nicer." Tyler Breeze throws his head back, looking up into the leaves. Roman is struck again by how _young_ and _innocent_ Breeze appears. 

“Your childhood sounds horrible.”

"You think that was bad? When I first came out-” Breeze glances at Roman, and then he sighs. “Well, you already know my biggest secret, what’s one more?”

“Mr Breeze, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t feel like it,” the Samoan assures hurriedly. 

Breeze snorts. “Call me Tyler. It’s weird hearing you call me ‘Mr Breeze’.”

“The others in the team call you Mr Breeze.”

“They’re not here, are they, Reigns?” The blond man shrugs, almost playful.

Roman smiles and shakes his head. “Okay then, _Tyler._ But you have to call me Roman.”

Breeze - no, _Tyler_ \- wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out at him. “My last breakup was in Rome. I don’t want to be reminded of Dango.” He swivels around, cocking his head as he studies Roman from head to toe, and then grins cheekily. “I’ll call you... Ro.”

“Oh _hell_ no-”

“Ro-Ro?”

“ _Mr Breeze_. Don’t call me that.”

“Ugh, fine.” Tyler pouts. “You’re no fun at all.” Sighing, he holds his hands behind him, turning around to walk on, following the tree line. “Anyway, as I was saying... When I came out to my family, I’d hoped they’d still accept me. Or, you know, not hate me.” He kicks a twig and sends it flying forward. 

Roman picks up his pace until he’s next to Tyler. If it were Dean or Seth, he’d throw an arm over their shoulders, hug them against himself. Here, he just walks as close as he can, offering silent support. 

“Do you remember me telling you to drive me to the hospital if I needed emergency care?” When Roman nods, the socialite explains, “The night I came out... It was ugly. Yelling, blame, demands that I go to conversion therapy. I hated that _I_ was the cause of all that unhappiness, all that anger; I hated that I wasn’t... that I disappointed them, so I popped every pill I could find in the house and cut my wrist.” He pushes up his left sleeve and shows his bare wrist to Roman. The night sky is partly clouded over, but Roman can make out the line of a scar. His heart twists again, this time for a young Tyler Breeze who saw no way out of his misery. “Hartford found me, in my bathroom, and called an ambulance at once. He saved my life but it became a scandal. Everyone in our social circle heard about it. When I was discharged, Father said I’d been an embarrassment to the family, and Mother told me to move across the country so they didn’t have to deal with the disgrace that I am.” He blew out a long puff of air, his breath visible. “I hadn’t even graduated then. They couldn’t disown me, but sometimes I think they wish I’d never been born.” He chuckles. “Well, the world needed all _this_ gorgeous and cute.”

It hurts, listening to Tyler recount that memory with such casual detachment, pretending that it didn’t matter, that it doesn’t matter now; Roman holds the other man’s left hand between his own. “I’m glad Hartford was there, though.”

Tyler looks at Roman, smiling, his gaze shrouded in shadow. “Eddie wasn’t.”

The idea of Edward Briesman irked Roman instantly. His hands tightened on Tyler’s. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.” Tyler takes his hand back, slides both into his pockets, but there’s no hiding the pain in his voice. “He left a gun on my pillow the day I returned and a sticky note, telling me to do it right ‘next time’.” A short, humorless laugh. “I left for LA the next morning.”

The sheer _cruelty_ takes Roman's breath away. _How did you survive all that?_ he wants to ask. “You don’t belong to this family,” he says at last.

Scoffing, Tyler shrugs and says, “Yeah, I learned that from them already.”

“No, I meant-” Roman hates that he’s not someone good with words. He’s an action guy. But they’re client and bodyguard, not _friends_. “I meant, that you are better than them, if they did what you said they did. And I’m sure they have been that cruel and callous, because everything I’ve noticed these past couple days- I know I'm not supposed to comment on your private life but...” Roman struggles to explain himself, and is saved from the ordeal when Tyler Breeze grips the former's elbow and squeezes lightly.

“I know what you mean. Thank you.” Tyler smiles up at him, his expression open and soft. “I feel better, telling someone.”

Roman feels an overwhelming urge to just _lean down_ and- He catches himself before the thought goes any further. “I’m honored that you told me.”

“Ha. I’m probably just drunk.” Tyler wrinkles his nose again. “But you’re a good listener, Ro-Ro.”

" _Mr Breeze_. Stop that." Rolling his eyes, Roman gestures for the other man to lead the way back to the house, as he tries to put from his mind just how pretty Tyler Breeze is with his face tilted up, soft lips parted, lit up by the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bhaiya - brother  
> baji - sister


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Tyler dreams, and Cedric agrees with Joe(!).

Christmas is supposedly a time for family to show how much they love one another. Here at the Briesmans, it’s merely another occasion to show off. There are so many carats of gems being passed around that Tyler thinks that they should have a rabbit farm. (It's a spiteful, catty thought, but he figures he's worth some spite.)

He can count on one hand those whose presents have been carefully chosen. Most of those he ‘gave’ were chosen by Drake, sent over earlier in the month so Hartford could wrap them. He smiles blandly at the others when they thank him politely. Drake has gone with Louis Vuitton this year, very tasteful selections all through. The few he selected on his own - his nephews, who got the games; his parents received the watches; his sister-in-law the antique shawl, and Eddie a pair of ebony cufflinks with diamonds. Kelsey was delighted with the scarves, and he loved the book on wines she gave him; he made her promise to visit him during spring break before she flies off to Greece. 

As in previous years, Tyler gets a number of ties (he doesn’t mind - he and Finn will ruin all of them thoroughly, a _fuck you_ to these people), along with a pocket watch (very elegant; Tyler thanks Uncle George sincerely), and three different editions of the Bible, along with a ivory crucifix. Aunt Beatrice smiles at him in the way a crocodile does at an injured gazelle by the water.

Eddie hands him a box. “When I saw that, I couldn’t not get it for you.”

Tyler smiles at his older brother. “Thank you.” He steels himself for something stupid, like the framed cover of the _National Enquirer_ when the tabloid blared a screengrab of that goddamn sex tape. He unwraps it and removes the cover.

It’s a lapel pin in the form of a tortoise, with real tortoiseshell and sapphires for its eyes. The flowers around it are made with pink coral and enamel. There’s a label - _Shelley._

Tyler almost drops the box. He gathers his composure, hoping he hasn’t lost much of it, and takes the pin from the box. “It’s very cute,” he says, meeting his brother’s mocking expression with a steady gaze, and pins it on his lapel. “Thank you, Eddie.”

A small frown appears on Eddie’s handsome face, but Tyler urges Kelsey to open her next present, so the moment passes. Tyler holds it together, until he gets to his suite after bidding the guests goodbye, and removes the pin with shaking fingers.

“Roman?” he calls out.

The bodyguard comes in, his tie already undone. “Yes Mr Breeze?”

“Keep this. When we get home, sell it or give it away or throw it into the ocean. Don’t ever let me see it again.” Tyler shoves the small accessory at him, and retreats into the shower, where the hot water does its best to soothe his frayed nerves. He runs his hands over his wrists, where the scars are, and quickly releases his grip. Instead he presses on the largest bruise on his right thigh - that is a  _good_ pain, one with sweet memories of Finn taking care of him, marking him thoroughly, physical reminders that Tyler belongs in a different world than this.

The pills he takes dry, too shaken to really care, and they push him into slumber. But they can’t stop the nightmare, the one where Eddie’s laughing as Shelly falls and falls and falls out of the sky, _always falling_ , where Tyler’s always too far away, or too small, or too slow to grab the poor reptile, the one where he’s screaming for Eddie to stop, and Shelly is going to hit the ground-

“ _Mr Breeze!”_  

Tyler’s eyes are wide open, his cheeks wet, his mouth dry and his throat raw. He stares at Roman, confused. “Why are you here?”

“Tyler,” the tall Samoan says, holding Tyler by his shoulders firmly, “you were crying and thrashing about. I was concerned.”

“I... Was I?” He swipes his right cheek, surprised that his hand comes away damp. “I was.”

With quiet concern, Roman sits on the bed, letting go of Tyler. The bodyguard is in a tank top, his muscular arms exposed. Tyler wants to hold on to him and borrow that strength. “Nightmare?”

“Shelly,” Tyler says, and that’s sufficient explanation.

A mild frown passes over Roman’s handsome face, his sensual lips going thin and angry - at Tyler, maybe, for disrupting his sleep - before he says, “May I hug you? Seth says I give good hugs.” 

The offer is unexpected and almost sweet. Tyler swallows a lump of emotion in his throat. He nods, and before Roman can lean in, he kicks off the sheets and climbs into the other man’s embrace, looping his arms around broad shoulders and buries his face into silky long hair. Roman’s embrace is warm and firm, reassuring; Tyler clings closer, uncaring of how humiliating this will seem in the morning when he’s more himself. Roman wraps his tattooed right arm about Tyler's waist, and his left hand caresses soothingly up and down the blond man's back, easing the tension in his spine.

“Seth’s right. You give good hugs,” Tyler mumbles, and feels Roman chuckle. Then he turns his head to study Tyler, as if checking to see if the latter is still crying, his gaze skimming over Tyler’s features, darting down to his mouth - lingers for a moment - and back to his eyes. For a moment, Tyler has the wild notion that Roman is going to kiss him.

 _Do it,_ he thinks, and is surprised by his own unvoiced thought.

The bodyguard exhales and hugs Tyler close once more, before disengaging himself. “Try to get more sleep,” he tells Tyler. “We have an early flight tomorrow and so we can rest on the plane, but I’ll sleep on the sofa just in case your nightmare comes back.”

Feeling a little disappointed and confused by his dejection, Tyler climbs back under the covers. To his surprise, Roman tucks him in, and brushes Tyler’s blond fringe from his face. Another long, contemplative scrutiny, and then Roman smiles, a slow curving of wide, sensual lips. “I’ll go get a pillow,” he says. “Goodnight, Tyler.”

“Goodnight, Ro-Ro.”

An exasperated “ _Mr Breeze_ ” makes Tyler grin to himself as he closes his eyes. It's the proximity and vulnerability, he reasons, that makes him want to feel loved, even by someone who's practically a stranger. _Home tomorrow, and then Daddy and Seth and Finn. The worst is over._

***

It’s difficult to not feel overwhelmed on the morning of his release from the hospital, what with the nurses flying in the room and rushing out just as quickly, his doctor stopping by for one final examination and repeating the risks and dosages of his medications, and-

“You’ll stay with me,” Joe tells him abruptly as Mustafa gathers up the endless pages of paperwork for his release. He doesn’t sound like he’s only suggesting this time, a spur-of-the-moment offer; no, he seems calm, as though he’s debated it and decided it’s the only acceptable option, his body language and expression telling Mustafa that the big man is going to have an entire argument (with multiple bullet points) for _why_ that is, no matter what Mustafa’s protestations may entail.

Naturally, Mustafa objects. “No, thank you.”

As expected, Joe scowls, but he replies, voice smooth, “Baby, I told you, you’ll need someone around to help you with the wrappings, with your meds if you’re too out of it or hurting to get them, and to help you with everything else, at least until you can manage to walk without risking re-opening that wound.” It all sounds logical (because of course it does, nothing Joe says is ever _illogical_ when he uses that voice, when he calls Mustafa _baby_ and sends his heart fluttering in his throat), but Mustafa’s denial must still show in his face because the older man continues. “Cedric has to work, and you can’t expect Isis to help you to the bathroom.”

His face is burning, but Mustafa replies evenly, “Mama won’t need to help me with anything because I’ll be _home_ , in my own apartment.” Joe looks amused (and doesn’t that just make Mustafa want to _rip out his own hair_ ), and Mustafa makes an effort not to sound as frustrated as he feels. “You can come over and help me shower every night,” he bargains, “but I’m not staying at yours.”

Joe hums, a deep rumble in his chest. “As tempting a counteroffer as that is, baby,” the big man tells Mustafa, “I’m going to insist.” He strides across the small room, lifts one hand to cup the side of Mustafa’s neck. His dark eyes glitter with promise and something _soft_ that Mustafa can’t quite place. “I want to take care of you, baby. Let me.”

(And Mustafa _wants_ to, wants nothing more than for Joe - _Daddy_ \- to take care of him, keep him safe and comfortable and pampered, even if it’s just for a little while. He wants it _so badly_ , he knows he has no choice but to say no.)

His refusal is on the tip of his tongue, but Cedric glides into the room before he can say anything. Joe’s hand drops to Mustafa’s hip, squeezing lightly. “Alright, alright,” the other man announces, grinning. “Everything is ready for your prison break, Moose.” He reaches just outside the door to grab something and steps back to guide a wheelchair into the room. At Mustafa’s eye roll, Cedric only chuckles. “Hospital rules.”

Sensing that he may be able to get his own way, Mustafa says with a tiny pout, “Joe is insisting that I stay with him until I recover, and I’m telling him that I can take care of myself perfectly well.”

Cedric hums, his eyes cutting from his best friend to Joe and back to Mustafa again. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m on your boyfriend’s side.”

_What?_

“ _What?”_ Mustafa’s voice is a little too high, a little too loud for a hospital, for their proximity. Joe lets out a pleased rumble and Mustafa, a little desperately, his eyes flicking between the older man and his best friend in the world (whose status may be in jeopardy now, the absolute _ass_ ), asks, betrayal in his voice, “Why would you even say that?” 

Cedric only rolls his eyes again, a put-upon sigh filling the room. “Look, Moose-bear-”

“Stop hanging around Dana.”

“-you _suck_ at taking care of yourself in _normal_ situations, you get me?” Ignoring the snort from Joe and the subsequent glare from Mustafa, Cedric continues, “So I can’t imagine you’ll be any less terrible in _this_ situation than you were when you broke your wrist freshman year and refused to keep your brace on when your cast came off.”

“I’m _right-handed_ ,” Mustafa protests, scowling. 

“ _Exactly_.” Cedric looks smug, as though he’s won. “You could’ve typed up your notes and reports like, you know, a sensible human being. Except you insisted on _writing them._ ” No reply is forthcoming, but the black man doesn’t look as though he truly expects one, telling him, “You fucked up the healing and had to have surgery.” Here, Cedric frowns, his eyes - midnight black and filled with concern - staring into Mustafa’s. “Don’t be stubborn.” The words have a playful hint to them, but Mustafa hears what he’s meant to hear underneath.

_Don’t put me through that._

Joe folds his arms. “See? Even your best friend thinks you should be taken care of.”

“And I’m gonna check in every single day too,” Cedric tells Joe. The big Samoan glares at Cedric, who replies smugly, “Mama’s orders.”

Mustafa deflates. If Mama has put her foot down, if Joe and Cedric are _agreeing_ with one another, the battle is lost.

***

The man of the hour looks _disgruntled_ , a small pout on his lips even as he fights back a smile when Paige smacks a wet kiss to his cheek, bright red lipstick left behind in a perfectly-shaped imprint of her lips.

"Good to see you out of the hospital, loverboy," she says. "The fluorescent lighting did nothing for your complexion."

Seth keeps close to Finn for the first half-hour, just enjoying the light atmosphere in the apartment. (It strikes him, suddenly, how _relaxed_ he feels here now, compared to how _frightened_ he had been the first time, too terrified to even meet Mr. Joe’s eyes, his throat raw and aching beneath Hunter’s collar.)

(That fucking _collar_. Finn and Seth burned it on the beach Christmas Eve night, the cold ocean breeze stinging where Seth's tears tracked down his face. Finn cuddled him all night afterwards, the two of them huddled in front of the fireplace, the penthouse too warm for Los Angeles, yet Seth had still felt cold. He'd let himself give in to grief, crying helplessly over what could have been, over what he should have achieved by now, before Hunter took that future away. Finn only held him and kissed him, asking no questions. Seth promised himself that night that he won't cry over Hunter ever again.)

Becky pretends to be grouchy over the lack of alcohol, although Mustafa tells her to go ahead and drink. Instead, she's the one who insists on seeing the wound.

"Stop that," Joe chides. "It's still bandaged up."

"I just want to see the stitches," she points out. "Come on, sit down, show us."

Mustafa is failing this time to hold in his laughter, Becky’s slender fingers snagging the hem of the cop’s oversized sweatshirt and moving to tug it upward; a sharp rap of Joe’s knuckles against hers heads her off, but it doesn’t stop her from rolling her eyes, muttering something under her breath that makes Joe scowl.

Seth smiles, catching Finn's eye and winking at him. He hasn't forgotten that Joe has decided that Seth is one of his (whatever that means) that afternoon at Tyler's. Or, more accurately, that Seth chose to be one of Joe’s. He’s not forgetting that Joe wants to play with him too - a tremor of delighted anticipation creeps down his spine - but he’s not sure if Mustafa knows about it.

“Joe, a moment? Seth, you take care of Mustafa, protect him from the girls.” Finn kisses Seth lightly on the mouth. Seth wrinkles his nose at him, but goes to sit with Mustafa so he’s not left to the mercy of Paige and Becky. 

***

"I almost forgot. For your wall," Finn says, passing Joe a little 'Welcome to Hollywood' fridge magnet. It's unlikely for anyone else to decipher Joe's method for keeping track of his jobs. (Finn thinks it's charming and it doesn't give off serial killer vibes, so he's more than happy to support Joe's odd habit. A Scottish assassin that Finn worked with used to collect a thumbnail from all her jobs. It was gross, not to mention the DNA evidence.)

“You two are okay?” Joe asks, placing the magnet in his pocket. 

“We are.” Finn blows out a long breath. “It’s... uncomfortable, waiting to see what Hunter wants, but I don’t know if I should poke about if he really is targeting me.”

“I can get CD to do some digging on the down-low. Best for us to have more leverage that isn’t tied to Seth or you. Tell Jericho to hold off, breathe a little.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Finn smiles, relieved. He still doesn’t know who CD is, other than that the person is in the FBI and is also Joe’s oldest friend. “Speaking of tied, you sure about Mustafa staying here?”

Joe sits down, his chair creaking slightly. There is an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty in his expression. The only person Finn knows for sure that has stayed with Joe for any extended time is himself, and that was just for three nights, back in London; by the fourth day they were ready to murder each other for breathing in the wrong direction. If it hadn’t been for that dumb drunk groping Finn at the gay club and incurring Joe’s wrath, one of them wouldn’t be here today. (The sex that night had been _spectacular_ , too, Joe taking Finn on nearly every available surface in Finn’s room. Then the big man flew out to Barcelona next morning.)

“I want him here,” Joe says. It’s a huge step, getting this admission from him. 

Finn stares, and then goes around the table to lean against it, next to the big man. “Do you love him?”

Joe scoffs, turning away from Finn. “I don’t know. But I know I want him here.”

 _You do know,_ Finn wants to say, but he knows Joe hates showing any vulnerability. Instead, the Irishman says, “Better warn him about not waking you at night. And you should put away the gun you tuck behind the nightstand.”

Joe flicks a mild glare at him. “You aren’t supposed to know about that.”

“Then don’t pin me to the headboard when you fuck me.” Finn straightens his jacket and puts his hand to Joe's cheek, thumb rubbing lightly under the big man's eye. "Let me know when you can pop in for an afternoon with me and Seth. Anyway, Jericho has some updates about your previous job, the one you did for Hunter."

***

After Finn and Joe disappear into the room where Seth was first introduced to Finn, Paige retrieves a small package wrapped in brown paper. “We have a present for loverboy Mustafa Ali,” she announces. 

“We made it ourselves too,” Becky says, grinning wickedly.

Mustafa squints at the two women who are trying to look innocent (and not succeeding). He whispers to Seth, “I have a bad feeling about this.” 

“I’m sure it won’t explode,” Seth offers, his own curiosity piqued. He knows that Finn doesn’t like that Mustafa is a cop, and he supposes Paige and Becky have to have their own reservations; Joe is definitely living a double life with Mustafa. Still, it's nice of them to have a gift for him.

With some reluctance, Mustafa rips open the wrapper. His cheeks turn dark pink as he pulls out the gift: a little wooden sign with the word “FUCK” on it, in bright silver glitter, with a loop of twine on the back for hanging it up.

“We already put the hook on Joe’s office door,” Becky says.

Paige sniggers. “You may have to wait a while before you can use it, but I expect to see that up once you’re cleared for moderate physical activity.”

Seth frowns, trying to figure out the joke. “Why would he need to- Oh. _Oh._ ” His eyes grow wide and round as he stares at Mustafa, who is hiding his own face in his hands, the FUCK sign on his lap. “Joe’s _office?_  As in the one downstairs?”

“Mm hmm,” says Paige, her smile wickedly mischievous. Her phone chimes. “That’s our food. Be back in a moment. Becks, come help.”

Once the two young women have gone downstairs, Mustafa allows himself to show his face. He’s still blushing. “I don’t know if this is the best idea,” he says softly, almost to himself.

Seth shifts in his seat. “You’re not cool with the girls teasing you? They mean no harm.”

“No, not that, _this_.” Mustafa gestures to the room. 

It’s a comfortably large room, all told, living and dining space combined. It’s very _Joe_. There aren’t any decorations. The leather sofa is plush and well-kept, the sleek steel-and-glass coffee table not matching the plain beech TV console, the white walls bare of photos and art. The only thing that can be considered a decor item is the rug, which is very old and frayed along the edges, its colors faded. Seth assesses the space with an architect's eye. There's a lot of space to move around, and nothing that is placed where it isn't needed most. Joe is a man who can live a Spartan life, if need be, and the few comforts he has for himself are things that are familiar to him. 

“This is Joe’s home. Staying here feels like... I don’t know. Like an imposition,” the cop mutters. “And he won’t _listen_ , either, when I tell him I can stay at my own apartment. Like he knows better than I do what’s good for me.”

An uncomfortable feeling niggles at the back of his mind, tendrils of concern reaching out. “You were shot,” Seth says softly, frowning. “It’s- He wants to help you.”

“Yeah,” Mustafa says, and he scoffs a bit as he adds, “and that’s nice. It’s… _nice_ , having someone _want_ to take care of me,” the other man admits, dark eyes closing as he sighs; when they open, Seth sees the faintest trace of resentment there. “It’s just- He didn’t really give me a _choice_ , just told me that I should stay with him, and then Cedric _agreed_ with him, and Mama…” Trailing off, Mustafa looks back at Seth now, and Seth _aches_ at the conflict he sees in the cop’s face. “It was just, I don’t know… It was just _easier_ to agree, is all. I didn’t want to argue, not when I know he’s just trying to help.”

Seth bites the knuckle of his thumb, trying to find the right words. Eventually, he says, “Maybe you can talk to him later, when you’ve recovered more? I mean, I can see why he’d want to take care of you in a place where he’s fully in control, but that also means that _you’re_ not.” He hesitates, and then reaches out to hold Mustafa’s hand. “Joe means well, but he always does things without explaining himself, so you’re gonna have to ask directly.” He wants to say more, but the girls are coming up the stairs now, bickering over whether cider counts as real alcohol and if the pear cider Becky’s chosen is too vile for someone just out of hospital, so he lets go of Mustafa’s hand.

Mustafa stares at Seth, thoughtful and a little relieved that someone _has listened to_ and _understands_ his dilemma, so Seth offers up a smile, tentative and small as the two women shove the bags of food onto the coffee table, ordering Seth and Mustafa to dig in. (Seth does, smiles as he remembers Tyler offering his food the night they met, the surprise and not-insignificant amount of suspicion he’d felt at the socialite’s kindness, at Joe’s soft touch as he’d loosened Seth’s too-tight collar, Finn’s gentle words and soothing voice.) 

He smiles, and he eats, and he laughs with the three of them, but he can’t shake the discomfort, can’t keep his mind away from the uneasiness of knowing Joe made a unilateral decision for Mustafa, refused to hear his objections. Hunter, Seth recalls, had done much the same when they’d first met, moving Seth into the guest house without much care to Seth wanting to keep the tiny apartment with Dean and Roman, to have some semblance of familiarity around him.

It isn’t as drastic as all that, Seth thinks - it mustn’t be because Joe… Mr. Joe is nothing like Hunter, not in any way that matters, and he was so gentle with Seth the night they met…

He doesn’t really know Joe, though - just like he hadn’t known Hunter - and the niggling feeling, the doubts and the concern, they all settle into him and refuse to leave.

 _But Finn trusts Joe_ , Seth reasons. If Finn trusts Joe completely, even after what happened in Tokyo, then surely Joe isn't anything like Hunter. Mustafa, for his part, isn't shying away from the big man, and now that Seth knows how the cop feels, he will keep an eye out. 

When Mustafa hides a yawn, Joe chases everyone out of his apartment. "He needs rest," he says. "I'll go down to the bar once I've got him settled in."

"I don't think Mustafa needs help getting into bed, Mr Joe," Seth blurts out, his face growing hot even as he feels himself ready to flinch away from a reprimand. 

"Baby boy's right," Paige says. "We need you downstairs. The guys have become a lot rowdier since you've been tied up at the hospital. There are only so many fingers Becky and I can break."

Joe glances back over his shoulder, and then back at the others. Then he sighs. "Yeah, fine. Baby, let me know if you need anything, okay? I've already put out towels and-"

"And I'm a grown adult who is well able to look around for what he needs, Joe," Mustafa says, almost impatiently, but there's a grateful smile when he catches Seth's eye. "I will text you if, for _some_ reason, I cannot lie down on a horizontal surface, close my eyes, and sleep."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, baby."

"You'll get over it." Despite the snark, Mustafa still walks over (very gingerly) and kisses Joe on the cheek. "Now go to work already, and stop being a mother hen."


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Tyler pretends to be okay, Mustafa is a chocolate chip, and Roman has to ask a favor.

Tyler sleeps on the plane, half an Ambien and a bottle of water downed as they’d boarded into the first class section. (Finn is adamant Tyler adhere to the _no alcohol_ warning when he takes the sleep aid, and the blond has never once felt the urge to disobey _this_ particular order.) Reigns wakes him once they hit the runway, gently shaking his arm, murmuring his name, and it makes Tyler yearn for… _something_.

“Mr Breeze-”

“Thought I told you to call me ‘Tyler’,” the shorter man mumbles back, rubbing sleep from his eyes. When he opens them, it’s to see the Samoan smiling a crooked smile, amused and perhaps… a little fond? The part of him that had the fleeting desire for the bodyguard to kiss him the night before _shudders_ , goosebumps rising on his arms, and he has to force himself to focus on the reply.

“Well, _Tyler_ , we're home," says Reigns ( _He said to call him_ _Roman_ , Tyler's sleepy mind reminds him). Tyler doesn't bother rationalizing the honey-sweet warmth that expands through him at the words _"we're home",_ only focuses on making sure he's presentable and that he doesn't have bedhead. Seth and Finn's presents are already set aside in his carry-on bag - he always goes straight to Finn after the torture of Christmas with his family - and he has Daddy's gift with him too, something he's worked for ages on all by himself. Even now, thinking about it makes his insides squirm in doubt. 

Gable is waiting by the plain black Audi, the one that thus far has eluded paparazzi. Tyler squints at him. "You've cut your hair."

"Yes, Mr Breeze."

"I like it. Less hippie hooked on weed, more cute former boyband member." 

While Gable stammers out his thanks, Tyler flings himself into the backseat and checks that he has the various presents he wants to give with him, along with his overnight bag that he packed this morning. The effects of the Ambien are fading, and now the full force of what he's going to face in a few minutes hits him. He has to act like it won't hurt when Finn gazes at Seth in that utterly entranced way, the way his brilliant blue eyes crinkle in the corners and the corners of his mouth curl, soft and _happy_ , as if he can't believe that every wish he's ever had has been fulfilled.

 _Get me someone that looks at me like that_ , he thinks, almost amused at himself.

In the front passenger seat, Roman turns around to ask Tyler, "Where to, Mr Breeze?"

Tyler wants to tell him to quit with the 'Mr Breeze' nonsense again, but he realizes that the Samoan is only keeping himself on equal footing with Gable. Gable has been on Tyler’s team for longer, after all. Though he fully intends to tell his driver to take him to Finn’s, he gives Joe's address first. _I need more time to prepare,_ he thinks, and wonders if there will come a time when he won't feel that sharp stab of helpless jealousy whenever he sees Finn and Seth together.

***

Mustafa checks his email and grimaces. “Really? Records?” he asks Cedric. He knows he can’t be out there patrolling until he’s cleared the physical and a psych evaluation, but he has been expecting light desk duty or something, not being tucked away in the musty Records room to log evidence. It's dull work even if it's necessary, and Sarge said Mustafa will have to cross-reference and cross-tag (whatever that means) according to the central system's requirements (whatever that entails). 

Cedric folds his arms. He’s come over to Joe’s, laden with two large duffel bags of Mustafa’s stuff, his uniform, and some news. “Captain says since you can’t be on your feet too much, you might as well clear the backlog.” The black man tilts his head and examines his best friend. “Look, it’s better than working the reception, and it’ll keep you away from Rush. They found the knife _and_ a handgun which was tossed just outside the pawn shop, by the way, so we’re off the hook for now. Now he’s bitching about some mutilated corpse.”

“We have a case with a mutilated corpse? Cool.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” Cedric says dryly. “And it’s not our case, it’s his former partner’s. Could be a career maker.” He strolls around, peering into the kitchen, the home office, the bedrooms. “It’s a nice place. What’s upstairs?”

Shrugging, Mustafa puts away his phone. “I don’t know. This is my first time staying overnight and I’m not the sort to go poking around.”

“What if he has dead bodies mounted up there?”

“For the last time, my boyfriend is not a psycho killer.”

The look of suspicion on Cedric’s face is purely for comedic effect, but Mustafa only feels annoyed. Nonetheless, his best friend has come to check on him and also to make sure he has his own clothes and possessions to make himself feel a little more at home. Most importantly, he’s brought enough of Mama’s Moroccan lamb on couscous to feed him for the next two days, and any food from Mama Alexander is comfort food.

As he stands to get himself a refill of his water, he asks if Mama will visit, and Cedric assures him that she will on the weekend. While Mustafa pours himself more water, Cedric asks, “For real. You okay with staying with him?”

“Yeah,” Mustafa tells Cedric, setting down his glass. “Joe’s right. I can’t check on the exit wound, and having someone else wrap my bandages is a great help. And it’s Joe taking care of me, so that’s nice.”

Cedric leans against the doorway, grinning crookedly. “You hate this.”

Sighing, Mustafa nods. “I hate this.” He bites his lip. He isn’t _angry_ with anyone about this arrangement, he just hates having to rely on someone for something that he should be able to take care of, but it sounds childish to complain about being taken care of by his boyfriend. Yet, on the other hand, Joe's focused concern after two weeks of radio silence has got Mustafa feeling rather spoiled by attention.

His best friend walks into the kitchen and claps him on the shoulder. “Chin up, chocolate chip. All you gotta do is get better soon. I have to go - Helen and I are checking out an arcade cafe. Hope it's good. See you next week in the office.”

Mustafa rolls his eyes. “You have _got_ to spend less time with Dana and all the nicknames. And say hi to Helen for me.”

***

Tyler watches as Joe opens his palm and reads the messy, looping script - _For Daddy <3 _ \- and his heart flutters in his chest at the _look_ it gets him from the bigger man.

Joe murmurs, voice low. “Being brave for Daddy, princess?” The hand not clutching the drive rises so that Joe can brush his knuckles along Tyler’s stubbled jawline, a shiver making its way down the blond’s spine at both the words and the _tone_ , a gentle rumble from the bigger man’s chest, his eyes fond, almost _loving_. (And, god, but it _hurts_ , it hurts to see that in Joe’s eyes because Tyler knows that it will never amount to anything, never be anything more than what they have now, the same as he and Finn, and that wound is still so _raw_ that it’s stinging, but it’s- It’s okay. He’s okay.) The thumb drive is offered back to him, the flat of Joe’s palm facing up. Dark eyes survey Tyler’s face, searching for any sign of uncertainty, of discomfort.

Tyler stares back with as much confidence as he can muster, even as his nerves jump with the knowledge of what is hidden in the small flash drive, memories of days past, an ex with a grudge and a vindictive streak, and scathing headlines full of lewd judgement flashing through his mind. The never-ending phone calls, each demanding quotes or clarifications or explanations, the screengrabs splashed over tabloid covers... He feels no fear with Joe, though; Joe will never hurt him unless Tyler asks for it, will _never_ betray his trust. _Safe._ He’s safe with Joe, with _Daddy_ \- and so is this.

Tyler cups Joe’s large hand in both of his smaller ones, curls the older man’s fingers back around the drive. “I hope you enjoy it, Daddy,” he says, peering coquettishly up at the Samoan through his eyelashes, fluttering them a few times, making Joe chuckle.

Joe tucks the drive away into the front pocket of his jeans and leans in to press a kiss to Tyler’s forehead, soft and lingering, sweeter than a man who looks like Joe has any right to be; Tyler can’t help the single, shuddering breath he releases at the touch, at the display of gentleness. Joe pulls back, warm palms cupping the sides of the blond’s neck, thumbs pressing against his jawline, urging Tyler to meet the other man’s steady, searching gaze. When Tyler remains silent, continues staring at Joe, the bar owner hums, his expression turning a bit somber as he asks, “Your family holiday go alright?”

_Are you okay?_

It’s more effort than it’s worth to lie to Joe (he’ll see right through Tyler; he always does) or force a smile, so Tyler replies shortly, “It’s over.”

Joe frowns, but doesn’t press him (for now), for which the blond is thankful - it’s enough to live through the horrid few days every year; he doesn’t want to relive each moment, doesn’t want to think of the beautiful pin, presumably still tucked away in Reigns’ luggage, a nightmare with a jeweled veneer.

There's a knock on the door and Joe lets go of Tyler. "Come in."

Mustafa walks in, his cheeks slightly flushed and his brow gleaming. "Hey."

"Baby, you're not supposed to be going up and down the stairs," Joe scolds.

"I do need to do some light exercise before my legs atrophy, Joe," the cop retorts, but his tone is teasing. "Anyway, Becky said Tyler's here, and I have something for him." With a shy smile, Mustafa hands a package wrapped in lilac paper over to the blond. "I hope you like it."

 _Of course it's Mustafa who interrupts us,_ Tyler thinks sourly, and is irritated by his own sourness. The Muslim cop is in Joe's care until he's better. Tyler can guess where this arrangement will lead, and he isn't prepared to lose Joe too. Nonetheless he can't _dislike_ Mustafa, who's got him a very lovely present of a book of coffee-based recipes and a sincere thank-you letter for helping make sure there won't be medical debt.

“How did you find out?” Tyler asks.

“My best friend scored a date while I was recuperating,” Mustafa says, grinning. “Priorities, I guess? She told him, and then he told me. So thank you very much, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” The thing is, Tyler can see why Joe likes Mustafa. ( _‘Don’t kid yourself,_ ’ he thinks. _‘Joe_ loves _him. Not even Finn gets such special treatment.’_ It’s a painful realization, hitting even harder than the knowledge of Seth and Finn reuniting.) The guy is good-looking, warm brown skin, sleek black hair, beautiful dark eyes, a radiant smile. And he’s really _nice_ too, thanking Tyler even though Tyler has done absolutely nothing more than asking a few necessary questions in the finance department. To hide his growing discomfort with the situation, Tyler goes to Joe and pecks him lightly on the cheek (just a bit of pettiness, really - Mustafa is unlikely to interpret the gesture as purely platonic, and maybe that will irritate Daddy Joe into disciplining Tyler) before he says, “I’m going to Finn’s. Anything you want to pass to him?”

Joe’s gaze is sharp and assessing; he knows why Tyler is so demonstrative in front of Mustafa. He leans in and whispers in Tyler’s ear, “Tell him to drop his lawyer. Someone told Hunter shit he shouldn’t have been able to find out.”

 _Jericho_ , Tyler thinks, and- Yes, he can see it; the lawyer has always seemed most concerned about how his deals would benefit _him_ in the long run. “Sure thing, Daddy,” he whispers back, just this side of nearly too loud.

A large hand wraps around Tyler’s wrist, squeezing tightly enough to send the big man’s message: _Watch it._

“I hope you both enjoy your gifts,” the socialite says, voice bright as he looks between the cop and Joe. (There’s a _look_ in the officer’s eyes, a hint of jealousy and _insecurity_ in them, and- A tendril of guilt unfurls in Tyler’s gut; he knows he can behave better, that he _has_ been behaving better.) On a whim (the guilt has nothing at all to do with it), Tyler bounces over to Mustafa, his smile wide, and leans in, dipping down the slightest bit to press his lips to the corner of the younger man’s mouth (and perhaps he lingers for a moment too long, but - by the lightest blush over Mustafa’s cheeks and the gleam in Joe’s eye as Tyler turns back around - he doesn’t think anyone minds).

“Be safe,” Joe tells him, his gaze steady (looking right through Tyler, seeing all the hurt the blond is trying to prepare himself for) and his words gruff, but Tyler hears the warning beneath, the concern, and it loosens something around his heart.

He replies, “Always,” and blows a kiss to the two men as he takes his leave, Mustafa’s soft voice querying _what did he get you?_ just below the noise of the bar.

The guilt remains, heavy, insistent, but Tyler motions to Gable and Roman at the bar, both of whom are being expertly flirted with - Paige winks at Tyler - and looking very pink-cheeked. The two escape the bar, glad of the excuse of escorting Tyler, and hurry out the back door, Gable in front and Roman watching Tyler’s back.

 _Now for Finn and Seth._ Tyler takes a deep breath as he gets into the car. No matter what, he was Finn’s and Joe’s princess first, before Mustafa and Seth even came on the scene; he will take what comfort he can from that.

***

Despite it being only a few days, Seth already looks brighter and healthier, the light in his eyes back and the lines of his entire body relaxed. Roman has to concede that his friend really is happy with Finn, and that Seth now knows what he's getting into.

Meanwhile, Tyler has brought up with him ( _made Roman carry_ ) some of the presents he received, presents for Finn and Seth, and the suitcase with his skincare and a change of clothes. Now he's dragged Finn to the glass room - conservatory, Seth said - leaving Roman and Seth to chat privately.

"Mick is taking the necessary precautions, and he's got the protection of his rep," the younger man is saying, "but I don't know how long Hunter has been tracking my movements, and I'm worried he's going to hurt you to get to me."

"I'll be cautious," Roman promises. "Besides, I'll be working only half days for the next..." He trails off, a thought coming to him. "Oh shit."

"What?"

"Seffy. Seffy is staying with me for the week." Roman feels dread pooling in his gut. "Galina is working the Shanghai flight, she needs me to take Seffy, and I was gonna put her with the neighborhood daycare while I am on duty."

"Should I watch her instead?"

"If Hunter is still watching you, then he'll know for sure that she's potential leverage." Roman swallows down the paranoia threatening to rise. Surely Hunter wouldn't hurt a child?

_You wanna bet your daughter's life on that?_

Seth bites the knuckle of his thumb, and his gaze flicks over to Finn and Tyler who are still in the conservatory; the latter is currently clinging to Finn's arm, talking nine to the dozen and the Irishman is laughing. They look very compatible, and Roman frowns at his own twinge of irritation.

"Maybe you can bring Seffy with you to work?" Seth suggests. "Tyler is connected enough that he isn't likely to be touched. The trouble that would cause from harming him will far outweigh whatever benefit Hunter can gain from me. Being around Tyler will be safest for her."

While it is a very cynical view of matters, Roman can't deny that Seth is right. In a way, he is glad that the other man isn't pretending everything will be fine; that he's given the risks of the situation proper thought. 

It is awkward to _ask_ , however, though both Finn and Tyler listen attentively to Seth laying out the reasons for Seffy to stay as close as she can to Roman.

"Of course you can bring her along to work," says Tyler. "In fact, why don't the two of you stay with me for the duration until she goes home to her mom?"

“That - that’s really generous of you, but we couldn’t impose,” Roman sputters. 

Seth touches the small of Roman’s back. “Roman, it’d be safer until we know what Hunter wants.”

“Yeah, and given that I’m gonna be really busy the next few days, you won’t be able to keep an eye on her all the time, even if Ember is gonna be my main. Seffy can play with Prince Pretty and Gable is great with kids too. Your girl is, what, five? She won’t get into too much trouble and I have plenty of room anyway.” Tyler cocks his head at Roman, as if considering. “Come on. Bring her over and she can even help me pick hors d'oeuvres for my launch party.”

Smiling, Finn tugs Tyler in and kisses him on the cheek. “You’re a nice boy, aren’t you?” To Roman, the Irishman says, “I’ll have Karl bring his wife and kids over too, so it’s not suspicious for a child to stay over. It’ll be more of a friends’ event, and Karl can keep an eye on everyone.”

Roman feels a loosening of the tight band of worry around his chest. “Thank you. I’m... I’m truly grateful. Let me know if I can do anything in return.”

“Seth and I will thank him _thoroughly_ on your behalf,” Finn says, teasingly nibbling on the shell of Tyler’s ear. A fetching blush spreads over the socialite’s face and he glances sidelong at Roman, as if he's embarrassed.

Feeling rather like a third wheel (or is it a fifth wheel?), Roman turns to Seth and hugs him around the shoulders. “I’ll hand you your present another day.”

“I left yours and Seffy’s on your pillow,” Seth tells him.

“Oh, wait!” Tyler disengages himself from Finn and hurries over to his bodyguard. “The presents for the team is in my study by the mannequin, in the red bag with black straps. I don’t know if Ember is on duty today, but you and Gable should take yours, and I’ll have something for Seffy when she goes to my place.” The elevator doors open and Tyler pushes Roman inside. “Bye! Tell Gable to wait for my call tomorrow morning, and to have my green smoothie ready in the car. No avocado!”

“Y-you don’t have to-” Roman doesn’t get the chance to protest about Tyler preparing a gift for his daughter when the doors close. _Damn. Now I have to get him a gift. What the hell do you get a guy who can buy anything he wants?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show Tyler all the love.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Finn and Seth and Tyler get it on. (And Roman doesn't.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Like, majorly.

Seth can’t help the flutter of nerves as Tyler sidles closer to him in the shower. Being naked together already has Seth’s pulse racing a little faster. Tyler isn’t as cut as Finn, his muscles not as defined, but all that sleek skin gleams breathtakingly under the rain shower, and Tyler’s brown eyes go dark when Seth leans down to kiss him. Soft lips, a hot mouth, and all too eager to take pleasure from Seth, Tyler is soon moaning quietly into the kisses, his arms thrown around the taller man’s neck.

“Look at you both,” Finn murmurs. He steps in behind Tyler and pulls Seth away from the blond for a moment to turn Tyler’s face for a kiss. The latter’s eyes are half-lidded with lust as he kisses back, open-mouthed kisses, and reaches around to pull Finn closer. 

Seth’s own hands are on Tyler’s waist, sliding up and down, their hips pressing close and Seth can’t _think_ when Finn reaches between the two subs and wraps his hands around both their erections. Tyler noses at Seth’s jaw with a whine, and the younger man has to bite the inside of his cheek.

“We are going to have so much fun,” Finn says, keeping his gaze locked on Seth as he licks up the side of Tyler’s neck. “Come on, Seth, let’s all clean up so we can spoil princess properly.”

“Mm, I am a lucky one,” Tyler murmurs, beaming.

There’s a built-in seat in the spacious shower; Seth blushes when he sits, remembering the last time he and Finn fucked in here, with him bent over the tiled bench and gasping helplessly for air. Judging by the small smirk on Finn’s face, he’s recalling the very memory as well. Applying shampoo doesn’t take long, and Tyler is all too happy to work conditioner into Seth’s hair, chiding him gently for not using better products. The blond’s fingers are strong as they knead over Seth’s scalp and along the back of his neck. When they switch over, Seth discovers the delight of using the washcloth over Tyler’s body, the thin scrap of fabric hardly any barrier between their skin. He sees faint scars along Tyler’s back, souvenirs from rougher play that Seth hopes he himself will sport over time, but only those from Finn or maybe Joe. There are other scars - those on Tyler’s wrists look hauntingly similar to the few cuts on Seth’s arms - and when Seth meets Tyler’s soft brown eyes, mute understanding passes between them. 

It’s unbearable to imagine Tyler ever having to go through all that pain. Seth kisses the older man, one hand sliding up between Tyler’s muscled thighs; he hears Finn’s soft laugh as Tyler squirms, and then he’s pulled off by a firm hand in his hair. Finn gazes down at him and shakes his head. “Not till I say so,” he reminds Seth, his grip tightening a fraction, and Seth _melts_ into compliance.

Tyler tilts his face up. “I want kisses,” he says, eyes closed, and Finn obliges. Seth’s breath catches in his throat as he watches their mouths move in perfect rhythm against each other, and he _can’t_ bear it, he needs to kiss one of them too, and tugs impatiently on Finn’s elbow.

“Keep cleaning Tyler up from his flight, sweetheart, that’s your job,” the older man chides, barely lifting his face from the blond’s upturned one, and resumes kissing him once he sees Seth getting to it with the washcloth. Tyler helps by parting his legs, one foot going onto the bench so he’s completely open to Seth’s gentle touches. It’s intimate, _more_ intimate, somehow, with the thin washcloth separating skin from skin, and Tyler is moaning from the two other men’s attention, his cute toes curling. Seth can feel himself growing harder; he needs to touch them, he needs to put his mouth on either one of them, but Finn and Tyler don’t stop caressing each other.

Finn eventually turns off the water. “Towel off, darlings. Tyler, pet, blow-dry Seth’s hair. I’ll go lay out the ties and supplies for later.”

***

 _Oh, what a view._ Tyler has been bound up in the assortment of ties from his relatives - six ties this Christmas, one fewer than last year - with the prettiest pale-green one knotted into a gag, and the two orange ones (utterly _hideous_ things) secure Tyler’s wrists to the bed frame. He’s also got Tyler wearing a light blue tie as a blindfold, the color bringing out the sheen of his hair.

As for Seth, he’s kneeling at the foot of the bed patiently, his wrists already bound together by a navy tie, while Finn has looped a dove gray one around his boyfriend’s neck as a makeshift leash and he is holding on to the thicker end. Finn has also placed a few things on the nightstand, covering them with a red scarf before he let either of his boys in.

“Let me hear the bell, pet,” Finn instructs. The blond obeys, ringing the small silver bell in his left hand. “Good. Sweetheart, your safeword?”

“Penthouse,” Seth murmurs, eyes cast down at his hands. He’s already trembling with anticipation, Finn can tell, his fingers twitching where they are spread over his knees. 

In wordless invitation, Tyler parts his legs even more, cocking his head as if impatient about the delay. Finn smiles to himself and tugs on Seth’s ‘leash’. “We’ll start from his feet, sweetheart; kiss his ankles, suck on his toes. We’ll take our time.”

Seth crawls forward on the bed and lowers his head to Tyler’s right foot, smiling shyly, and presses his mouth to the jut of Tyler’s ankle bone, his lashes lowering as he dusts kisses over the shapely arch and then moves down to Tyler’s toes, taking the little toe into his mouth. Tyler inhales sharply, then relaxes against the headboard.

And take their time they did, Finn giving orders on where Seth is to lick, or suck, or nibble. Feet, then waist, then hands and elbows; the neck, the ear, the chest, the belly, the lips; along the inside of his thighs, the sides of his knees, over the curve of his pelvis, but never where Tyler wants it. The blond squirms and arches, unable to speak, clearly eager for Seth to put his mouth on his erect cock, dripping with precome as the dark-haired sub follows Finn’s instructions.

Tyler shakes the bells in his left hand and Finn frowns. They’re nowhere near Tyler’s limits, but a signal is a signal, so Finn tugs Seth away from Tyler - they look _stunning_ , both already gleaming with sweat and their skin flushed - and removes the gag from the blond’s mouth. “What’s wrong, princess?”

“I wanna see,” Tyler breathes out, lips quivering. “I want to- Let me see, _sir_ , please, I need- I need to _see-”_

Finn smiles and kisses Tyler’s sweaty forehead. “Exercise your imagination, gorgeous.”

“But _Finn_ -” 

“Shush. I’ll let you decide how you want to take Seth later if you behave.” A soft mewl is let out behind Finn. He peers over his shoulder to look at Seth’s dewy eyes, take in the pretty, flushed lips, the spreading blush over his skin, and smiles. “You know what, princess, I’ll let you take a peek. Ten seconds.”

He lifts up the blindfold, and Tyler blinks rapidly, before he inhales sharply as he takes in the view of Seth straddling his legs, wrists bound in front of him, his erect cock bobbing behind his hands. 

“Seven, six-”

“Sir, Finn- _denka,_ don’t blindfold me, please-”

“-three, two, one.” Ruthlessly, the Irishman pulls the blindfold down and tugs the gag back up and fits it back in Tyler’s mouth. The brat protests, whining and arching, but Finn puts a stop to that by leaning down to bite on his earlobe and whisper a rebuke. "Behave, pet, or we'll stop playing."

The blond's protest subsides. Smiling, Finn orders Seth to come closer. "I love your mouth," he tells his boy fondly. "I want you to show Tyler how good you are with it."

Seth visibly perks up. He kneels next to Tyler's hip, hands placed on the mattress, and lowers his head, until his soft beard is brushing against Tyler's cock, and he then waits for Finn's instructions. Tyler whines at the contact but he stays still. Finn is proud. 

"Good boys," he says, and a soft glow spreads over both the faces of the other two young men. To Seth, Finn says, "Start however you like to, sweetheart; I'll give suggestions as you go along."

Finn sits on the side to observe. He's always loved playing with multiple subs, when he gets to direct the action, using his subs in place of his own body, and his subs eventually have to struggle to focus on his words when they want nothing more than to lose themselves to pleasure. Tyler is shuddering, but he keeps himself as motionless as he can; Finn tells Seth to work on just the head of Tyler's cock and _do that thing with your tongue while you're at it_ , then grins when the socialite squeals.

Seth has his eyes half-closed, dark lashes fanning over the tops of his cheeks that hollow as he sucks, Tyler squirming as he works. Finn would have loved a recording of this but he knows not to even suggest it, not after the stressful holiday Tyler's had. (In the back of his mind he thinks about Eddie Briesman, and how much he wants to tear that man limb from limb, _literally,_ but Tyler never once indicated that he wants his brother harmed in retaliation for all he's done, and Finn won't inflict that sort of guilt on his princess.) 

Watching Seth fills Finn with a tender, hot possessiveness. The young man who used to want to hide in the corners, who scarcely dared to take up more than a third of the bed, now able to stand his ground, now relishing being in the spotlight... Finn wonders if he can take both of them to the club in Tokyo, currently under the leadership of Kenny and Tama. Perhaps they can even put on a show together… but no. Japan is off-limits to him for another four years, at least.

A half-choked, desperate whimper from Tyler brings Finn’s attention back to the scene. Feeling charitable, he tugs down the gag in Tyler’s mouth. “Yes, pet, what is it?”

“Finn, I need-”

“Ah-ah,” the Irishman tuts. “What do you call me when we play, princess?”

Tyler pants out, “ _Sir_ , please, I want-”

“What, pet?” hums Finn, leaning forward in his seat. “Seth is doing his very best to keep you pleased and still you want more?” He reaches a hand down, pats down wayward curls when the youngest whines, his lips forming a soft pout around the tip of Tyler’s cock.

“I want- _please_ , sir.” The blond sounds desperate, but he doesn’t once struggle against his bonds as he tries to find his words. “I- touch me,” he implores. “Please, sir, want you to…”

“Soon, darling boy,” Finn murmurs. “Stay still now.” He shifts the chair closer to Seth’s end of the bed, leans in to whisper into his ear, hidden behind a curtain of thick hair, and-

Tyler yelps, choking on air as Seth slides all the way down his cock, holding himself there while Finn praises him. “Such a good boy for me, sweetheart. Three, two, one; there we go,” Finn smiles, maneuvering to press a kiss to Seth’s sweaty temple as the younger man pulls up. The gasping breaths from his boy match his princess’, heavy and quick,Tyler’s interspersed with broken moans. The Irishman strokes his fingers down the line of Seth's back, and murmurs, "Again."

And again Seth goes down, this time for a longer count, choking and working his throat, and Finn is smug with delight at the goosebumps prickling all over Tyler's limbs. The blond bites down on his bottom lip, whimpering, but keeping still. It takes a few more times of his boy working his throat and tongue hard, as Tyler becomes more and more wound up, before Finn tugs on Seth's hair to have him pull away from Tyler's cock, a line of saliva trailing from the dark pink head to his lip. Color is high on his cheeks and he looks _intoxicated_. Tyler is panting, hard, the blindfold coming loose but his eyes are squeezed shut. A quick check in with Seth later, Finn instructs him, "Press right _there_ , sweetheart."

 _There_ is a little patch of skin on Tyler's pelvis, where his thigh meets his hip, and the second Seth touches it Tyler jerks up with a soft, strangled cry. Finn moves to the head of the bed and kisses Tyler, sucking on his tongue, and a second cry erupts as he comes.

When Finn lets go of the blond, he glances over and has to laugh quietly at the state Seth's in: sticky trails of come in his scruff, blobs of come over his face, even a milky drop on the tip of his nose. Finn removes Tyler's blindfold and the ties on his arms so he can look as well, relishing the breathless giggle the view elicits from the blond. While Finn rubs Tyler’s arms and hands down, checking his circulation, Seth rubs at the ejaculate on his face with both hands, brows furrowed, looking ridiculously adorable.

"I wanna eat him out," Tyler confides in a whisper. "May I?"

"Another time, princess," Finn says, settling in behind Tyler and bracketing him with his legs. "Seth, sweetheart, come here and let Tyler clean you up properly."

The brunet obeys happily, sighing when Tyler cups his cheeks and begins to kiss and lick him, nibbling on his lips and mouthing at his scruffy jaw. Finn takes a moment to enjoy the view - the two are kissing sweetly, one of Tyler’s hands entangled in Seth’s dark, fluffy curls, the other scratching lightly over Seth’s beard; peering down, Finn sees that Seth’s bound hands are resting on Tyler’s chest, fingers splayed, curling as the kisses grow more intense.

Then Finn nibbles on Tyler’s ear. “Choose a number between one to five.”

“Four.” Tyler lets his head roll back to rest on Finn’s shoulder. “What did I win?”

Seth blinks at them both, mouth parted slightly, and furrows his brow. “Do I get to choose too?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse.

“Yes, just not number four,” Finn tells him fondly.

While the dark-haired sub considers, Tyler wiggles in Finn’s hold and they share lazy, lingering kisses. After a moment, Seth says he wants number one.

“Alright then.” Finn uncovers the scarf on the bedside table. “Number four - beads.”

Tyler pouts. “That’s not fun now that I’ve already come. And I wanted Seth to fuck me,” he complains.

“Brat, wait for another time.” Finn grins. “Number one - ribbed condom. Seth, sweetheart, do you want to wear it or put it on me?”

Blushing, Seth takes the condom and murmurs, “I’d like to put it on you, please.”

“Can’t I take that plug instead?” Tyler pleads, and after some negotiation on what else the blond will do, Finn accedes. It’s slightly ludicrous and silly as they untangle themselves, but they soon get back into the mood. Finn is kissing Seth who’s sitting in his lap, the younger man’s legs spread as far as Finn can get them; Tyler’s on his knees now, nosing along Seth’s cock, his fingers buried deep inside the young man’s ass; he’s making Seth blush, describing with relish every sensation he feels as he opens Seth up for their dom, Finn adding filthy asides, until they can feel Seth fighting his urge to squirm, the muscles of his legs tensing and stretching; Finn and Tyler exchange a knowing glance and ramp up their game, until Seth is whining and begging for them to _get on with it already, please_ , and Finn laughingly sits Seth on his cock.

The young brunet shudders and groans, shoulders rolling, turning his head to kiss Finn, messily and hungrily, more teeth than lips or tongue. Tyler, not pleased to be left out of their interaction, goes down on Seth. The latter cries out sharply, his voice tight and high with surprise.

“Enough down there,” Finn commands, a hand reaching out to tug on Tyler’s golden hair. “Use your hands.” To Seth, he says, “Ride me, sweetheart, hard and fast, but don't come.”

The younger submissive swallows, trembling, and loops his hands over Tyler’s neck, pulling him in to kiss him. And then he begins to move his hips, driving his cock up into Tyler’s hold, then his ass down onto Finn’s cock. Finn leans back a little to admire the sight, before reaching forward to wrap his right hand over Tyler’s on Seth’s erection, and the other groping up Seth’s chest to pinch his nipples and scratch through damp chest hair.

Tyler stops kissing Seth and seeks out Finn instead, pinning Seth between them; he can’t move much, and struggles to fuck into the two older men’s joined grip. “Come on, Finn, sir, I want- let me move... Tyler, Ty, I can’t-”

“Someone say something?” Tyler asks in a murmur, smiling wickedly as his lips move over Finn’s mouth. 

Finn shakes his head minutely even as he rubs his thumb over the tip of Seth’s cock. “Nothing. Come back here, pet.”

Seth whines, hips bucking hard in the confined space, squeezing down on Finn’s cock, his complaints increasingly vociferous. Finally Tyler disengages from the kiss, his eyes dark with want. 

“I’m hard again,” he tells Finn. “May I fuck Seth, please?”

“You do deserve some spoiling, I suppose. Sweetheart, stop moving- I said, _stop.”_ Finn administers a sharp pinch and a slap on a muscled thigh, and Seth slows to a halt, his whole body trembling. Finn hums with approval. “There. Nod when you’re ready to talk.” He presses soothing kisses on Seth’s sweaty neck and waits for his lover’s heaving breaths to slow. It seems to take forever, Seth’s entire body shaking as he’s brought down from the edge of climax, and then he nods. Finn smooths Seth’s dark hair from his face. “We’ve talked about this before, but I want to check again. Do you want Tyler to fuck you?”

Seth nods frantically. “Yes, yes, please, yes.”

“Right now?”

“Oh god, yes, I want-” Seth licks his lips and focuses on Tyler (with some difficulty). “Both of you. Right now. At the same time.”

“Sweetheart, we’ve not prepped you for that.”

“Right now,” Seth insists, a husky growl coming into his voice. “Now now now now _now_. I want it, I want you both, just fill me up.”

Delighted, Tyler bites his lower lip coquettishly and flutters his lashes at Finn. “Please? You said I could.”

Finn tsks. “Demanding, both of you.” With a huff of amusement, he nods assent. Tyler wiggles and grabs a condom from the nightstand. Finn pulls out completely and slides three fingers into Seth, while Tyler gets ready. Seth shivers, throwing his head back, exhaling slowly, until Finn’s fingers are in him to the knuckle. The young man is relaxed and open already, his insides clenching sweetly down on the intrusion.

“Another, please,” he whispers. “God, it feels so good, sir, please, another.”

This time Tyler joins in, lower lip caught in his teeth as he concentrates. One finger, then two. When a pained whine escapes from Seth, Tyler freezes, until the younger sub takes another deep breath and blows it out in a quiet _ahh_ . The blond sub gazes at Finn, waiting for the signal. Finn mouths ‘ _three’_ at Tyler, and the latter obeys. Seth whimpers, trembling visibly, and pushes _down_ on them. Tyler inhales sharply and thrusts his fingers in, hard, and again; Finn lets him take the lead and follows his pace, until tears trickle from the corners of Seth’s eyes and he’s begging for them, raspy voice breathless with need.

After they remove their fingers, Finn nods at Tyler, who carefully positions himself and slides in first, an expression of tender exhilaration passing over his handsome face; he and Seth kiss hungrily, as if trying to connect even more than they have. Finn watches for a moment, and then insinuates himself into Seth, rocking slowly forward until Seth has taken him completely. It’s _tight_ but it feels great, the rigid heat of Tyler’s cock an added pleasure. Finn sucks on Seth’s shoulder and neck, teeth scraping lightly over his skin, wondering if he and Joe could take Seth this way too, though the sub may feel the effects a lot more with Joe than with Tyler. With Seth between them urging them to _fucking move already_ , Tyler and Finn get into a rhythm, Tyler’s hot, panting breaths in sync with Seth’s while Finn’s is in counterpoint, pressed into his boyfriend’s neck, Tyler’s mouth and tongue constantly seeking out Seth, and the Irishman gropes around the blond’s ass until his ring finger slides into the loop at the end of the plug inserted into the sub.

“Finn,” Tyler gasps.

“Move,” Finn orders.

Time and the world all fall away. There is only heat - warm, wet, devouring - coiling tighter and tighter; sounds of flesh on flesh, of grunts and moans and whimpers, a quiet plea of _harder, so close;_ Seth pleading in ecstasy as he grows impossibly _tight_ around them, Tyler’s rhythm faltering in turn, and then the blessed, blessed blankness of release, a hum of nothing but his pulse in Finn’s ears. Seth cries out loudly, hoarse voice cracking, and then Tyler curses, soft insistent nonsense, before all three of them sag against one another.

With care, Finn extricates himself, and so does Tyler, both of them tossing their condoms off the side of the bed. Seth is a boneless heap, a blissed-out smile on his glowing face. The blond sighs and stretches, before he drapes himself over the younger submissive, legs twining with Seth’s, and Finn playfully nudges at the plug still in Tyler and earns himself a whine of protest. Covering all of them with a thin sheet, Finn settles in behind Seth, and basks in the warm almost-silence. Then:

“I’m feeling sticky and gross. I need another shower.”

Smacking Seth’s chest, Tyler huffs, sounding annoyed. “ _Afterglow,_ Seth. Look it up.”

***

“Is no one going to help me with the sheets?” Finn asks, peering into the den. His hair is still damp from his shower. 

Currently snuggled under two throws and lying on their bellies on the thick rug, Tyler and Seth both shake their heads, the flashing multicolored light from the TV washing over them. (They showered together before Finn had his turn.) Tyler doesn’t even look away from the screen as Princess Peach hurtles along the path, neatly overtaking Seth’s Bowser. “It’s still aftercare time, and aftercare is when you take care of us.”

“You’re playing Mario Kart.”

“It’s comforting,” Seth pipes up, before shouting, “Asshole! You cheated!”

“You can’t cheat at Mario Kart, dumbass,” Tyler retorts, elbowing Seth in the ribs, and gets tackled as Seth tries to steal his controller.

Finn sighs and shakes his head, before returning to the bedroom. The sheets won’t change themselves.

***

It's green, lush and wild, the way he remembers his grandparents' home back in the islands. He's not been here since he was thirteen but he's here now. The sky is a rich blue, with scattered fluffy clouds. Suddenly, without warning, rain begins to fall and thunder rumbles in the distance.

Looking around, he can't see much beyond luxuriant foliage. Someone is waiting for him. He pushes into the forest, the rain cold on his skin. He’s feeling increasingly worried but not for himself; he’s looking for someone. Then he sees a massive toppled tree, its trunk hollowed out, and a young man curled in the shadows, hiding from the downpour.

 _There you are,_ he thinks, and goes into the dark. "Tyler?"

"Roman?" The blond looks over his shoulder, and the expression of fear fades into relief. "Roman. I was so scared."

Roman pulls Tyler into his arms and cradles his head against his chest. "I'm here."

"Keep me safe," Tyler whispers.

Roman doesn't hesitate; he presses his forehead to Tyler's and promises, "I will." And he kisses Tyler, feeling his heart expand with _want_ , and then they are outside, entwined beneath the hot sun, and Tyler under bright daylight is more beautiful than Roman can bear; he buries his face into Tyler's neck, tastes his skin, feels soft, wet heat envelope him; the lust tight and low in his groin; Tyler begging quietly for Roman not to let go, _don't let me go, never let go_ , and there is nothing in the world that will tear them apart-

The blare of the latest pop hit wakes Roman and he slams a meaty hand on his alarm. _God, what the fuck,_ he thinks, and shifts uncomfortably as he slides his hand under the band of his underwear to rub one out. In his groggy state, all he can picture is Tyler, naked, under him, head tilted back and mouth open, gasping, and Roman squeezes his eyes shut to better picture it, his hand working faster until he comes with a grunt. 

Only when he cleans up does he feel a little guilty about his dream. _Fuck. I can’t look him in the eye later, I’ll give myself away. Thank God I’m gonna be busy with Seffy and scheduling my courses. Last thing I need is to be unprofessional and lose this job._

Still, it's not as if Roman hasn't ever had wet dreams about guys. He knows he's bisexual; he just finds it a lot easier to date a girl is all. Anyway, Tyler never needs to know that Roman got off to a dream of him.


End file.
